'iARX'5 
SECRET 


E.PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 


versity  of  California 
EGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
lue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 
lis  material  to  the  library 
vhich  it  was  borrowed. 


998 


MR.  MARX'S  SECRET 


I  am  going  to  put  that  beast  out  of  his  misery,''  he  answered. 
FRONTISPIECE.    Seepage  132. 


MR.  MARX'S 
SECRET 


BY 
E.  PHILLIPS   OPPENHEIM 

Author  of  "Mr.  Grex  of  Monte  Carlo,"'  «'  The  Double  Traitor" 
"  The  Illustrious  Prince,"  etc. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 
F.  VAUX  WILSON 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 
1916 


Published,  January,  1916 


Reprinted,  January,  1916  (twice) 
February,  1916  (twice) 


JbMM 

8.  J.  PAMHILL  A  Co.,  BOSTON,  0.8.A. 


Stack       p  £2 


Annex 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — NEWS   FROM   THE   PACIFIC      .  .  .  .  .II 

II. — MR.  FRANCIS          .......  15 

III. — THE  MURDER  AT  THE  SLATE-PITS      .        .        .  18 

IV. — MY  MOTHER'S  WARNING 23 

V. — RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR 27 

VI. — A  DOUBTFUL  VISITOR 39 

VII. — A  MEETING  AND  A  METAMORPHOSIS    .        .        ,  43 

VIII. — AN  ABODE  OF  MYSTERY       .        .        *        .        .  49 

IX.— MR.  MARX b        .        .  58 

X. — LADY  SILCHESTER         ......  65 

XI. — THE  CRY  IN  THE  AVENUE 70 

XII. — A  DARK  CORNER  IN  THE  AVENUE       ...  76 

XIII. — THE  CLOUD  BETWEEN  Us 81 

XIV. — A  MEETING  IN  THE  COFFEE-ROOM      ...  85 

XV.— A  TETE-A-TETE  DINNER 89 

XVI. — Miss  MABEL  FAY 93 

XVII. — BEHIND    THE    SCENES    AT    THE    TORCHESTER 

THEATRE 98 

XVIII. — AT  MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR      ....  103 

XIX. — A  STRANGE  ATTACK      .        .        .        .        .        .  in 

XX. — THE  MONASTERY  AMONG  THE  HILLS          .        .115 

XXI. — A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  DEAD      ....  124 

XXII. — FOR  LIFE 127 

XXIIL— MY  GUARDIAM .  135 

XXIV.— MY  FIRST  DINNER  PARTY 138 

XXV. — MR.  MARX'S  WARNING 144 

XXVI. — A  LOST  PHOTOGRAPH    ......  148 

XXVII. — LEONARD  DE  CARTIENNE      .        .        .        .  157 

XXVIII.— "As  ROME  DOBS"  164 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGB 

XXIX. — A  DINNER  PARTY  SUB-ROSA        ,        .        .        .169 

XXX. — E"CARTE   WITH   MR.   FOTHKRGILL  .           .           .           •  >74 

XXXI. — A  STARTLING  DISCOVERY             .       .       .       .  182 

XXXII.— FORESTALLED 190 

XXXIII. — A  GLEAM  OF  LIGHT             *        .        .       .       .  195 

XXXIV. — DR.  SCHOFIBLD'S  OPINION            .        .       .       .  199 

XXXV. — AN  INVITATION             ......  204 

XXXVI. — A  METAMORPHOSIS        ......  209 

XXXVII.— MR.  MARX  is  WANTED 218 

XXXVIII.— I  ACCEPT  A  MISSION            .....  223 

XXXIX.— MY  RIDB       i 225 

XL. — MY  MISSION          .       • 229 

XLI. — THE  COUNT  DE  CARTIBNNB         ....  232 

XLII. — NEWS  OF  MR.  MABX                     .        ,        .        .  240 

XLIII. — ABOUT  TOWN 246 

XLIV. — A  MIDNIGHT  EXCURSION  TO  THE  SUBURBS         .  252 

XLV. — A  MYSTERIOUS  COMMISSION         ....  258 

XLVI. — A  BRUSH  WITH  THE  POLICE         ....  261 

XLVII. — LIGHT  AT  LAST             264 

XLVIII.— A  PAGB  OF  HISTORY 269 

XLIX. — I  WILL  Go  ALONB 278 

L. — I  MEET  MY  FATHER             .       .       .       .        .  280 

LI. — DAWN 284 

LII. — WHERE  is  MR.  MARX  ? 287 

LIII. — MESSRS.  HIGGINSON  AND  Co.       .        .       ,  293 

LIV. — A  RAID 299 

LV. — THE  MYSTERY  OF  MR.  MARX       ....  304 

LVI.— THB  END  OF  IT.       .       .       .       .       .       ,  308 


MR.  MARX'S  SECRET 


MR.  MARX'S  SECRET 


CHAPTER   I. 

NEWS  FROM  THE  PACIFIC. 

MY  HOME  was  a  quaint,  three-storeyed,  ivy-clad 
farmhouse  in  a  Midland  county.  It  lay  in  a 
hollow,  nestled  close  up  against  Rothland  Wood, 
the  dark,  close-growing  trees  of  which  formed  a 
picturesque  background  to  the  worn  greystone 
whereof  it  was  fashioned. 

In  front,  just  across  the  road,  was  the  boundary- 
wall  of  Ravenor  Park,  with  its  black  fir  spinneys, 
huge  masses  of  lichen-covered  rock,  clear  fish- 
ponds, and  breezy  hills,  from  the  summits  of  which 
were  visible  the  sombre  grey  towers  of  Ravenor 
Castle,  standing  out  with  grim,  rugged  boldness 
against  the  sky. 

Forbidden  ground  though  it  was,  there  was  not 
a  yard  of  the  park  up  to  the  inner  boundary 
fence  which  I  did  not  know  ;  not  a  spinney  where 
I  had  not  searched  for  birds'  nests  or  raided  in 
quest  of  the  first  primrose  ;  not  a  hill  on  which  I 
had  not  spent  some  part  of  a  summer  afternoon. 

I  was  a  trespasser,  of  course  ;  but  I  was  the 
son  of  Farmer  Morton,  an  old  tenant  on  the  estate, 
and  much  in  favour  with  the  keepers,  by  reason 
of  a  famous  brew  which  he  was  ever  ready  to  offer 
a  thirsty  man,  or  to  drink  himself.  So  "  Morton's 
young  'un  "•  was  unmolested ;  and,  save  for  an 

si 


12  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

occasional  good-humoured  warning  from  Crooks, 
the  head-gamekeeper,  during  breeding-time,  I 
had  the  run  of  the  place. 

Moreover,  the  great  estates  of  which  Ravenor 
Park  was  the  centre  knew  at  that  time  no  other 
master  than  a  lawyer  of  non-sporting  proclivities, 
so  the  preserves  were  only  looked  after  as  a  matter 
of  form. 

I  was  eight  years  old,  and  an  unusually  hot 
summer  was  at  its  height.  It  was  past  midday, 
and  I  had  just  come  out  from  the  house,  with  the 
intention  of  settling  down  for  an  afternoon's 
reading  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  orchard.  I  had 
reached  the  stack-yard  gate  when  I  stopped  short, 
my  hand  upon  the  fastening. 

A  most  unusual  sound  was  floating  across  the 
meadows,  through  the  breathless  air.  The  church- 
bells  of  Rothland,  the  village  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wood,  had  suddenly  burst  out  into  a  wild, 
clashing  peal  of  joy. 

In  a  country  district  everybody  knows  everyone 
else's  business  ;  and,  child  though  I  was,  I  knew 
that  no  marriage  was  taking  place  anywhere  near. 

I  stood  listening  in  wonderment,  for  I  had  never 
heard  such  a  thing  before ;  and,  while  I  was 
lingering,  the  bells  from  Annerley,  a  village  a  little 
farther  away,  and  the  grand,  mellow-sounding 
chimes  from  the  chapel  at  Ravenor  Castle,  breaking 
the  silence  of  many  years,  took  up  the  peal,  and 
the  lazy  summer  day  seemed  all  of  a  sudden  to 
wake  up  into  a  state  of  unaccountable  delight. 

I  ran  back  towards  the  house  and  met  my  mother 
standing  in  the  cool  stone  porch.  The  men  about 
the  farm  were  all  grouped  together,  wondering. 
No  one  had  the  least  idea  of  what  had  happened. 

And  then  Jim  Harrison,  the  waggoner,  who  had 
just  come  in  from  the  home  meadow,  called  out 
quickly,  pointing  with  his  finger ;  and  far  away, 


NEWS  FROM  THE  PACIFIC.  13 

along  the  white,  dusty  road,  we  could  see  the  figure 
of  a  man  on  horseback  riding  towards  us  at  a  furious 
gallop. 

"  It  be  the  master !  "  he  cried,  excitedly.  "  It 
be  the  master,  for  sure !  There  bean't  no  mis- 
taking Brown  Bess's  gallop.  Lord-a-mercy !  how 
'e  be  a-riding  her  !  " 

We  all  trooped  out  on  to  the  road  to  meet  my 
father,  eager  to  hear  the  news.  In  a  few  moments 
he  reached  us,  and  brought  Brown  Bess  to  a  stand- 
still, bathed  in  sweat  and  dust,  and  quivering  in 
every  limb. 

"  Hurrah,  lads  !  "  he  shouted,  waving  his  whip 
above  his  head.  "  Hurrah  !  There  never  was  such 
a  bit  o'  news  as  I've  got  for  you  I  All  Mellborough 
be  gone  crazy  about  it !  " 

"  What  is  it,  George  ?  Why  don't  you  tell 
us  ? "  my  mother  asked  quickly.  And,  to  my 
surprise,  her  hand,  in  which  mine  was  resting,  was 
as  cold  as  ice,  notwithstanding  the  August  heat. 

He  raised  himself  in  his  stirrups  and  shouted  so 
that  all  might  hear : 

"  Squire  Ravenor  be  come  to  life  again  !  They 
'a'  found  him  on  an  island  in  the  Pacific,  close 
against  the  coral  reef  where  his  yacht  went  down 
six  years  ago  !  He's  on  his  way  home  again,  lads. 
Think  of  that !  Sal,  lass,  bring  us  up  a  gallon  of 
ale  and  another  after  it.  We'll  drink  to  his  home- 
coming, lads  !  " 

There  was  a  burst  of  applause  and  many 
exclamations  of  wonder.  My  mother's  hand  had 
moved,  as  though  unconsciously,  to  my  shoulder, 
and  she  was  leaning  heavily  upon  me. 

"  Where  did  you  hear  this,  George  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  a  subdued  tone. 

"  Why,  it  be  in  all  the  London  papers  this  morn- 
ing," he  answered,  taking  off  his  hat  and  wiping 
his  forehead,  "  The  steamer  that's  bringing  him 


14  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET* 

home  'a*  sent  a  message  from  some  foreign  port, 
and  Lawyer  Cox  he's  got  one,  and  it's  all  written 
up  large  on  the  walls  of  the  Corn  Exchange.  I 
reckon  it'll  make  those  deuced  lawyers  sit  up  !  " 
chuckled  my  father,  as  he  slowly  dismounted. 

"  Lord-a-mercy !  Only  to  think  on  it !  Six 
year  on  a  little  bit  o'  an  island,  and  not  a  living 
soul  to  speak  a  word  to  !  And  now  he's  on  his 
way  home  again.  It  beats  all  story-telling  I 
ever  heerd  on.  Why,  Alice,  lass,  it  V  quite 
upset  you,"  he  added,  looking  anxiously  at  my 
mother.  "  You're  all  white  and  scared-like.  Dost 
feel  badly  ?  " 

She  was  standing  with  her  back  to  us  and  when 
she  turned  round  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  change 
had  crept  into  her  face. 

"  It  is  the  heat  and  excitement,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  This  is  strange  news.  I  think  that 
I  will  go  in  and  rest." 

"  All  right,  lass !  Get  thee  indoors  and  lie 
down  for  a  bit.  Now,  then,  lads.  Hurrah  for  the 
squire  and  long  life  to  him  !  Pour  it  out,  Jim — 
pour  it  out !  Don't  be  afraid  on  it.  Such  news 
as  this  don't  coom  every  day." 

And,  with  the  vision  of  my  stalwart  yeoman 
father,  the  centre  of  a  little  group  of  farm-labourers, 
holding  his  foaming  glass  high  above  his  head, 
and  his  honest  face  ruddy  with  heat  and  excite- 
ment, my  memories  of  this  scene  grow  dim  and 
fade  away. 


CHAPTER   II* 

MR.    FRANCIS. 

I  WAS  alone  with  my  father  in  the  kitchen,  and  he 
was  looking  as  I  had  never  seen  him  look  before. 
It  was  late  hi  the  afternoon — as  near  as  I  can 
remember,  about  six  weeks  after  the  news  had 
reached  us  of  Mr.  Havener's  wonderful  adventures* 
He  had  just  come  in  for  tea,  flushed  with  toil  and 
labouring  in  the  hot  sun.  But  as  he  stood  on  the 
flags  before  me,  reading  a  letter  which  had  been 
sent  up  from  the  village,  the  glow  seemed  to  die 
out  from  his  face  and  his  strong,  rough  hands 
trembled. 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  I  heard  him  mutter  to  himself,  in 
a  hoarse  whisper — "  a  wicked  lie  !  " 

Then  he  sank  back  in  one  of  the  high-backed 
chairs  and  I  watched  him,  frightened. 

"  Philip,  lad,"  he  said  to  me,  speaking  slowly, 
and  yet  with  a  certain  eagerness  in  his  tone,  "  has 
your  mother  had  any  visitors  lately  whilst  I  'a* 
been  out  on  the  farm  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  No  one,  except  Mr.  Francis,"  I  added  doubt- 
fully. 

He  groaned  and  hid  his  face  for  a  moment. 

"  How  often  has  he  been  here  ?  "  he  asked,  after 
a  while.  "  When  did  he  come  first  ?  Dost  re- 
member ?  " 


16  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  promptly,  "  It  was  on  the 
day  Tom  Foulds  fell  from  the  oat-stack  and  broke 
his  leg.  There  was  another  gentleman  with  him 
then.  I  saw  them  looking  in  at  the  orchard  gate, 
so  I  asked  them  if  they  wanted  anything,  and  the 
strange  gentleman  said  that  he  was  thirsty  and 
would  like  some  milk,  so  I  took  him  into  the 
dairy ;  and  I  think  that  mother  must  have 
known  him  before,  for  she  seemed  so  surprised  to 
see  him. 

"  He  gave  me  half  a  crown,  too,"  I  went  on, 
"  to  run  away  and  watch  for  a  friend  of  his.  But 
the  friend  never  came,  although  I  waited  ever  so 
long.  He's  been  often  since ;  but  I  don't  like 
him  and " 

I  broke  off  in  sudden  dismay,-  Had  not  my 
mother  forbidden  my  mentioning  these  visits  to 
anyone  ?  What  had  I  done  ?  I  began  to  cry 
silently. 

My  father  rose  from  his  chair  and  leaned  against 
the  oaken  chimney-piece,  with  his  back  turned 
towards  me. 

"  It's  he,  sure  enough  !  "  he  gasped.  "  Heaven 
forgive  her  !  But  him — him " 

His  voice  seemed  choked  with  passion  and  he 
did  not  finish  his  sentence.  I  knew  that  I  had 
done  wrong,  and  a  vague  apprehension  of  threaten- 
ing evil  stole  swiftly  upon  me.  But  I  sat  still 
and  waited. 

It  was  long  before  my  father  turned  round  and 
spoke  again.  When  he  did  so  I  scarcely  knew 
him,  for  there  were  deep  lines  across  his  forehead, 
and  all  the  healthy,  sunburnt  tan  seemed  to  have 
gone  from  his  face.  He  looked  ten  years  older 
and  I  trembled  when  he  spoke. 

"  Listen,  Philip,  lad  !  "  he  said  gravely.  "  Your 
mother  thinks  I  be  gone  straight  away  to  Farmer 
Woods  to  see  about  the  colt,  don't  she  ?  " 


MR.  FRANCIS.  17 

I  nodded  silently.  We  had  not  expected  him 
home  again  until  late  in  the  evening. 

"  Now,  look  you  here,  Philip,"  he  continued. 
"  She's  gone  to  bed  wi'  a  headache,  you  say  ? 
Very  well.  Just  you  promise  me  that  you  won't 
go  near  her." 

I  promised  readily  enough.  Then  he  bade  me 
get  my  tea  and  he  sank  back  again  into  his  chair. 
Once  I  asked  him  timidly  if  he  were  not  going  to 
have  some,  but  he  took  no  notice.  When  I  had 
finished  he  led  me  softly  upstairs  and  locked  me 
in  my  room.  Never  to  this  day  have  I  forgotten 
that  dull  look  of  hopeless  agony  in  his  face  as  he 
turned  away  and  left  me. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE  MURDER  AT  THE  SLATE-PITS, 

IT  was  late  on  this  same  evening.  All  day  long 
the  thunder  had  been  rumbling  and  growling, 
and  now  the  storm  seemed  close  at  hand. 

I  had  partly  undressed,  but  it  was  too  hot  to 
get  into  bed,  so  I  leaned  out  of  my  wide-open 
window,  watching  the  black  clouds  hanging 
down  from  the  sky,  and  listening  to  the  rustling 
of  leaves  in  the  wood — sure  sign  of  the  coming 
storm. 

The  air  was  stifling ;  and,  longing  feverishly  for 
the  rain,  I  sat  in  the  deep  window-sill  and  looked 
out  into  the  scented  darkness,  for  honeysuckle  and 
clematis  drooped  around  my  window  and  the 
garden  below  was  overgrown  with  homely,  sweet- 
smelling  flowers. 

Suddenly  I  started.  I  was  quick  at  hearing,  and 
I  had  distinctly  caught  the  sound  of  a  light,  firm 
step  passing  down  the  garden  path  beneath.  My 
first  impulse  was  to  call  out,  but  I  checked  it  when 
I  recognised  the  tall,  graceful  figure  moving  swiftly 
along  the  gravel  walk  in  the  shade  of  the  yew- 
hedge.  It  was  my  mother  ! 

I  watched  her,  scarcely  believing  my  eyes. 
What  could  she  be  wanting  in  the  garden  at  this 
hour  ?  And  while  I  sat  on  the  window  casement, 
wondering,  a  cold  shiver  of  alarm  chilled  me,  for 

il 


THE  MURDER  AT  THE  SLATE-PITS.     19 

I  saw  a  man  creep  stealthily  out  from  the  wood  and 
hurry  across  the  little  stretch  of  meadow  towards 
the  garden  gate,  where  she  was  standing. 

The  moon  was  shining  with  a  sickly  light  through 
a  thick  halo  of  mist  and  I  could  only  just  distin- 
guish the  figures  of  my  mother  and  this  man,  side 
by  side,  talking  earnestly.  I  watched  them  with 
riveted  eyes  until  I  heard  a  quick  step  on  the  floor 
behind  me  and  a  hand  was  laid  upon  my  mouth, 
stifling  my  cry  of  surprise. 

"  It's  only  me,  Philip,  lad,"  whispered  a  hoarse, 
tremulous  voice.  "  I  didn't  want  you  to  call  out 
— that's  all.  Hast  seen  anything  of  this  before  ?  " 
And  he  pointed,  with  shaking  finger,  towards  the 
window,  from  which  he  had  drawn  me  back  a 
little. 

I  looked  at  him,  a  great  horror  stealing  over 
me.  His  ruddy  face  was  blanched  and  drawn,  as 
though  with  pain  ;  and  there  was  a  terrible  light 
in  his  eyes.  I  was  frightened  and  half  inclined 
to  cry. 

"  No,"  I  faltered.  "  It's  only  Mr.  Francis,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Only  Mr.  Francis  !  "  I  heard  my  father  repeat, 
with  a  groan.  "  Oh,  Alice,  lass — Alice !  How 
could  you  ?  " 

He  staggered  blindly  towards  the  door.  I  rushed 
after  him,  piteously  calling  him  back,  but  he  pushed 
me  off  roughly  and  hurried  out. 

I  heard  him  leave  the  house,  but  he  did  not 
go  down  the  garden.  Then,  in  a  few  minutes, 
every  one  of  which  seemed  to  me  like  an  hour, 
the  low  voices  at  the  gate  ceased  and  my  mother 
came  slowly  up  the  path  towards  the  house. 

I  rushed  downstairs  and  met  her  in  the  hall. 
She  seemed  half  surprised,  half  angry,  to  see  me. 

"  Philip,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  thought  you  were 
in  bed  long  ago  !  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 


20  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"I  am  frightened!"  I  sobbed  out.  "Father 
has  been  in  my  room  watching  you  at  the  gate 
and  he  talked  so  strangely.  He  is  very  angry  and 
he  looks  as  though  he  were  going  to  hurt  someone." 

My  mother  leaned  against  the  wall,  every  vestige 
of  colour  gone  from  her  face,  and  her  hand  pressed 
to  her  side.  She  understood  better  than  I  did  then. 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?  "  she  asked  hysterically. 
"t  Quick,  Philip— quick  !  Tell  me!" 

"He  is  gone,"  I  answered.  "  He  went  out  by 
the  front  door  and  up  the  road." 

A  sudden  calmness  seemed  to  come  to  her  and 
she  stood  for  a  moment  thinking  aloud. 

"  He  has  gone  up  to  the  wood  gate  !  They  will 
meet  in  the  wood.  Oh,  Heaven,  prevent  it ! "  she 
cried  passionately. 

She  turned  and  rushed  into  the  garden,  down 
the  path  and  through  the  wicket  gate  towards 
the  wood.  I  followed  her,  afraid  to  stay  alone. 
A  vast  mass  of  inky-black  clouds  had  sailed  in 
front  of  the  moon  and  the  darkness,  especially 
in  the  wood,  was  intense. 

More  than  once  I  fell  headlong  down,  scratching 
my  face  and  hands  with  the  brambles ;  but  each 
time  I  was  on  my  feet  immediately,  scarcely  con- 
scious of  the  pain  in  my  wild  desire  to  keep  near 
my  mother. 

How  she  found  her  way  I  cannot  tell.  Great 
pieces  of  her  dress  were  torn  off  and  remained 
hanging  to  the  bushes  into  which  she  stepped ; 
and  many  times  I  saw  her  run  against  a  tree  and 
recoil  half  stunned  by  the  shock. 

But  still  we  made  progress,  and  at  last  we  came 
to  a  part  of  the  wood  where  the  trees  and  under- 
growth were  less  dense  and  there  was  a  steep 
ascent.  Up  it  we  ran  and  when  we  reached  the 
top  my  mother  paused  to  listen,  while  I  stood, 
breathless,  by  her  side. 


THE  MURDER  AT  THE  SLATE-PITS.     21 

Save  that  the  leaves  above  us  were  stirring  with 
a  curious  motion,  there  was  not  a  sound  in  the 
whole  wood.  Birds  and  animals,  even  insects, 
seemed  to  have  crept  away  to  their  holes  before 
the  coming  storm.  We  could  see  nothing,  for  a 
thick  mantle  of  darkness — a  darkness  which  could 
almost  be  felt — had  fallen  upon  the  earth.  We 
stood  crouched  together,  trembling  and  fearful. 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  the  darkness  !  "  my  mother 
murmured  to  herself.  "  Philip,"  she  went  on, 
stooping  down  and  feeling  for  my  hand,  "  do  you 
know  where  we  are  ?  We  should  be  close  to  the 
slate-pits." 

I  was  on  the  point  of  answering  her,  but  the 
words  died  away  on  my  parted  lips.  Such  a  sight 
as  was  revealed  to  us  at  that  moment  might  have 
driven  a  strong  man  mad. 

Although  half  a  lifetime  has  passed  away,  I  can 
see  it  now  as  at  that  moment.  But  describe  it  I 
cannot,  for  no  words  of  mine  could  paint  the 
thrilling  beauty  and,  at  the  same  time,  the 
breathless  horror  of  the  scene  which  opened  like 
a  flash  before  us. 

Trees,  sky,  and  space  were  suddenly  bathed  in 
a  brilliant,  lurid  light,  the  like  of  which  I  have 
never  since  seen,  nor  ever  shall  again.  It  came 
and  went  in  a  space  of  time  which  only  thought 
could  measure  ;  and  this  is  what  it  showed  us  : — 

Yawning  at  our  feet  the  deep  pit  and  sullen 
waters  of  the  quarry,  for  we  were  scarcely  a 
single  step  from  the  precipitous  edge  ;  the  huge 
piles  of  slate  and  the  sheds  with  the  workmen's 
tools  scattered  around  ;  and  my  father,  his  arms 
thrown  upwards  in  agony,  and  a  wild  cry  bursting 
from  his  lips,  at  the  very  moment  that  he  was 
hurled  over  the  opposite  side  of  the  chasm ! 

We  saw  the  frantic  convulsions  of  despair  upon 
his  ashen  face,  his  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets. 


22  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

as  he  felt  himself  falling  into  space  j  and  we  saw 
the  dim  outline  of  another  man  staggering  back 
from  the  brink,  with  his  hands  outstretched  before 
his  face,  in  horror  at  what  he  had  done. 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  the  fierce 
glare  vanished.  The  heavens — only  a  moment 
before  open  and  flooding  the  land  with  sheets  of 
living  fire — were  black  and  impenetrable,  and  the 
crashing  thunder  shook  the  air  around  and  made 
the  earth  tremble,  as  though  it  were  splitting  up 
and  the  very  elements  were  being  dissolved. 

With  a  cry,  the  heartrending  anguish  of  which 
will  ring  for  ever  in  my  ears,  my  mother  sank  down, 
a  white,  scared  heap  ;  and  I,  my  limbs  unstrung 
and  my  senses  numbed,  crouched  helpless  beside 
her.  Then  the  rain  fell  and  there  was  silence. 


CHAPTER   IV- 
MY   MOTHER'S   WARNING. 

FOR  many  weeks  after  that  terrible  night  in  Roth- 
land  Wood,  I  lay  wrestling  with  a  fierce  fever, 
my  recovery  from  which  was  deemed  little  short 
of  miraculous.  A  sound  constitution,  however, 
and  careful  nursing  brought  me  round,  and  I 
opened  my  eyes  one  sunny  morning  upon  what 
seemed  to  me  almost  a  new  world. 

The  first  thing  that  I  can  clearly  remember 
after  my  return  to  consciousness  was  the  extra- 
ordinary change  which  had  taken  place  in  my 
mother.  From  a  beautiful,  active  woman,  she 
seemed  to  have  become  transformed  into  a  stern, 
cold  statue. 

Even  now  I  can  recall  how  frightened  I  was 
of  her  during  those  first  days  of  convalescence, 
and  how  I  shrank  from  her  constant  presence  by 
my  bedside  with  a  nameless  dread. 

The  change  was  in  her  appearance  as  well  as 
in  her  manner.  Her  rich  brown  hair  had  turned 
completely  grey,  and  there  was  a  frigid,  set  look 
in  her  face,  denuded  of  all  expression  or  affection, 
which  chilled  me  every  time  I  looked  into  it. 
It  was  the  face — not  of  my  mother,  but  of  a 
stranger. 

As  I  began  to  regain  strength  and  the  doctors 
pronounced  me  fit  to  leave  the  sick-room,  she 


24  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

began  to  display  signs  of  uneasiness,  and  often 
looked  at  me  in  a  singular  kind  of  way,  as 
though  there  were  something  which  she  would  say 
to  me. 

And  one  night  I  woke  up  suddenly,  to  find  her 
standing  by  my  bedside,  wrapped  in  a  long  dressing- 
gown,  her  grey  hair  streaming  down  her  back 
and  a  wild  gleam  in  her  burning  eyes.  I  started 
up  in  bed  with  a  cry  of  fear,  but  she  held  out 
her  hand  with  a  gesture  which  she  intended  to  be 
reassuring. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,  Philip,"  she  said.  "  Lie 
down,  but  listen." 

I  obeyed,  and  had  she  noticed  me  closely 
she  would  have  seen  that  I  was  shivering ;  for 
her  strange  appearance  and  the  total  lack  of 
affection  in  her  manner,  had  filled  me  with  some- 
thing approaching  to  horror. 

"  Philip,  you  will  soon  be  well  enough  to  go 
out,"  she  continued.  "  People  will  ask  you  ques- 
tions about  that  night." 

It  was  the  first  time  the  subject  had  been 
broached  between  us.  I  raised  myself  a  little  in 
the  bed  and  gazed  at  her,  with  blanched  cheeks 
and  fascinated  eyes. 

"  Listen,  Philip  !  You  must  remember  nothing. 
Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  faintly. 

"  You  must  forget  that  you  saw  me  in  the  garden  ; 
you  must  forget  everything  your  father  said  to 
you.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  repeated.     "  But— but,  mother " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Will  he  be  caught — the  man  who  killed  father  ?  " 
I  asked  timidly.  "  Oh,  I  hope  he  will !  " 

Her  lips  parted  slowly,  and  she  laughed — a  bitter, 
hysterical  laugh,  which  seemed  to  me  the  most 
awful  sound  I  had  ever  heard. 


MY  MOTHER'S  WARNING.  35 

Hope  !  Yes  ;  you  may  hope — hope  if  you 
!  "  she  cried  ;  "  but  remember  this,  boy  ; 
If  your  hope  comes  true,  it  will  be  an  evil  day 
for  you  and  for  me  !  Remember  !  " 

Then  she  turned  and  walked  to  the  door  without 
another  word.  I  sat  in  bed  and  watched  her 
piteously,  with  a  great  lump  in  my  throat  and  a 
sore  heart.  The  moonlight  was  pouring  in  through 
my  latticed  window,  falling  full  upon  the  long, 
graceful  lines  of  her  stately  figure  and  her  hard, 
cold  face.  I  was  forlorn  and  unhappy,  but  to  look 
at  her  froze  the  words  upon  my  lips. 

Merciless  and  cruel  her  features  seemed  to 
me.  There  was  no  pity,  no  love,  not  a 
shadow  of  response  to  my  half-formed,  appealing 
gesture.  I  let  her  go  and  sank  back  upon  my 
pillows,  weeping  bitterly,  with  a  deep  sense  of 
utter  loneliness  and  desolation. 

On  the  following  day  I  was  allowed  to  leave 
my  room  and  very  soon  I  was  able  to  get  about. 
As  my  mother  had  anticipated,  many  people  asked 
me  questions  concerning  the  events  of  that  hideous 
night.  To  one  and  all  my  answer  was  the  same. 
I  remembered  nothing.  My  illness  had  left  my 
memory  a  blank. 

Long  afterwards  I  saw  more  clearly  how  well  it 
was  that  I  had  obeyed  my  mother's  bidding. 

A  brief  extract  from  a  county  newspaper  will 
be  sufficient  to  show  what  the  universal  opinion 
was  concerning  my  father's  murder.  I  copy  it 
here : 

"  In  another  column  will  be  found  an  account 
of  the  inquest  on  the  body  of  George  Morton, 
farmer,  late  of  Rothland  Wood  Farm.  The  verdict 
returned  by  the  jury — namely,  '  Wilful  murder 
against  John  Francis ' — was,  in  the  face  of  the 
evidence,  the  only  possible  one ;  and  everyone 
must  unite  in  hoping  that  the  efforts  of  the  police 


2fl  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET; 

will  be  successful,  and  that  the  criminal  will  not 
be  allowed  to  escape.  The  facts  are  simple  and 
conclusive. 

*'  It  appears  from  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Bullson, 
landlord  of  the  George  Hotel,  Mellborough,  and  of 
several  other  habitues  of  the  place,  that  only  a 
few  days  before  the  deed  was  committed,  there 
was  a  violent  dispute  between  deceased  and  Francis 
and  that  threats  were  freely  used  on  both  sides. 
On  the  night  in  question  Francis  started  from 
Rothland  village  shortly  after  nine  o'clock,  with 
the  intention  of  making  his  way  through  the  wood 
to  Ravenor  Castle.  Owing,  no  doubt,  to  the  ex- 
traordinary darkness  of  the  night,  he  appears  to 
have  lost  his  way,  and  to  have  been  directed  by 
Mrs.  Morton,  who  noticed  him  wandering  about 
near  her  garden  gate. 

*'  Mrs.  Morton  declines  to  swear  to  his  identity, 
owing  to  the  darkness  ;  but  this,  in  the  face  of 
other  circumstances,  must  count  for  little  in  his 
favour.  He  was  also  seen  by  the  deceased,  who, 
enraged  at  finding  him  on  his  land  and  addressing 
his  wife,  started  in  pursuit,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Morton  and  her  little  boy,  who  arrived  at  the 
slate-pits  in  time  to  witness,  but  too  late  to 
prevent,  the  awful  tragedy  which  we  fully  reported 
a  few  days  since. 

"  In  face  of  the  flight  of  the  man  Francis, 
and  the  known  fact  that  he  was  in  the  wood  that 
night,  there  is  little  room  for  doubt  as  to  his  being 
the  actual  perpetrator  of  the  deed,  although  the 
details  of  the  struggle  must  remain,  for  the  present, 
shrouded  in  mystery.  Mr.  Ravenor,  who  has  just 
arrived  in  England,  has  offered  a  reward  of  £500 
for  information  leading  to  the  arrest  of  Francis, 
who  was  a  servant  at  the  Castle." 


CHAPTER  V* 

RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR. 

IT  was  generally  expected  that  my  mother  would 
be  anxious  to  depart  as  soon  as_  possible  from  a 
neighbourhood  which  had  such  terrible  associations 
for  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  showed  no  in- 
tention of  doing  anything  of  the  sort.  At  the  time 
I  rather  wondered  at  this,  but  I  am  able  now  to 
divine  her  reason. 

It  chanced  that  the  farm,  of  which  my  father 
had  been  tenant  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
was  taken  by  a  neighbour  who  had  no  use  for  the 
house,  and  so  it  was  arranged  that  we  should  stay 
on  at  a  merely  nominal  rent.  Then  began  a 
chapter  of  my  life  without  event,  which  I  can 
pass  rapidly  over. 

Every  morning  I  walked  over  to  Rothland  and 
received  two  hours'  instruction  from  the  curate, 
and  in  the  afternoon  my  mother  taught  me  modern 
languages.  The  rest  of  the  day  I  spent  alone,  wan- 
dering whithersoever  I  pleased,  staying  away  as 
long  as  I  chose,  and  returning  when  I  felt  inclined. 
The  results  of  such  a  life  at  my  age  soon  developed 
themselves.  I  became  something  of  a  misanthrope, 
a  great  reader,  and  a  passionate  lover  of  Nature. 
At  any  rate,  it  was  healthy,  and  my  taste  for  all 
sorts  of  outdoor  sport  prevented  my  becoming  a 
bookworm, 

*7 


28  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

It  had  its  influence,  too,  upon  my  disposition. 
It  strengthened  and  gave  colour  to  my  imagination, 
expanded  my  mind,  and  filled  me  with  a  strong 
love  for  everything  that  was  vigorous  and  fresh 
and  pure  in  the  books  I  read. 

Shakespeare  and  Goethe  were  my  first  favourites 
in  literature  ;  but  as  I  grew  older  the  fascination 
of  lyric  poetry  obtained  a  hold  upon  me,  and 
Shelley  and  Keats,  for  a  time,  reigned  supreme 
in  my  fancy.  But  my  tastes  were  catholic.  I 
read  everything  that  came  in  my  way,  and  was 
blessed  with  a  wonderful  memory,  which  enabled 
me  to  retain  much  that  was  worth  retaining, 

Meanwhile,  the  more  purely  technical  part  of 
my  education  was  being  steadily  persevered  in  ; 
and  so  I  was  not  surprised,  although  it  was  rather 
a  blow  to  me,  when  the  clergyman  who  had  been 
my  tutor  walked  home  with  me  through  the  wood 
one  summer  evening,  and  told  my  mother  that  it 
was  useless  my  going  to  him  any  longer,  for  I  already 
knew  all  that  he  could  teach  me. 

I  watched  her  covertly,  hoping  that  she  would 
show  some  sign  of  gratification  at  what  I  felt  to 
be  a  high  compliment.  But  she  simply  remarked 
that,  if  such  was  the  case,  she  supposed  the 
present  arrangement  had  better  terminate,  thanked 
him  for  the  trouble  he  had  taken  with  me,  and 
dismissed  the  matter.  I  scanned  her  cold,  beautiful 
face  in  vain  for  any  signs  of  interest.  The  cloud 
which  had  fallen  between  us  on  the  night  of  my 
father's  murder  had  never  been  lifted. 

The  curate  stayed  to  tea  with  us,  and  after- 
wards I  walked  back  through  the  woods  with  him, 
for  he  was  a  sociable  fellow,  fond  of  company 
— even  mine. 

When  I  reached  home  again  I  found  my  mother 
looking  out  for  me,  and  I  knew  from  her  manner 
that  she  had  something  important  to  say  to  me. 


RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR.  29 

"  Philip,  I  have  heard  to-day  that  Mr.  Ravenor 
is  expected  home,"  she  said  slowly. 

I  started  and  a  little  exclamation  of  pleasure 
escaped  me.  There  was  no  man  whom  I  longed 
so  much  to  see.  What  a  reputation  was  his !  A 
scholar  of  European  fame,  a  poet,  and  a  great 
sinner ;  a  Crossus  ;  at  times  a  reckless  Sybarite, 
at  others  an  ascetic  and  a  hermit ;  a  student  of 
Voltaire  ;  the  founder  of  a  new  school  of  philosophy. 
All  these  things  I  had  heard  of  him  at  different 
times,  but  as  yet  I  had  never  seen  him.  Some- 
thing more  than  my  curiosity  had  been  excited 
and  I  looked  forward  now  to  its  gratification. 

My  mother  took  no  note  of  my  exclamation,  but 
her  brow  darkened.  We  were  standing  together 
on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house  and  she  was  in 
the  shadow  of  a  tall  cypress  tree. 

"I  do  not  suppose  that  he  will  remain  here 
long,"  she  continued,  in  a  hard,  strained  tone ; 
"  but  while  he  is  at  the  Castle  it  is  my  wish  that 
you  do  not  enter  the  park  at  all." 

"  Not  enter  the  park  !  '*  I  repeated  the  words 
and  stared  at  my  mother  in  blank  astonishment. 
What  difference  could  Mr.  Ravenor's  presence  make 
to  us  ? 

"  Surely  you  do  not  mean  this  ?  "  I  cried,  bitterly 
disappointed.  "  Why,  I  have  been  looking  forward 
for  years  to  see  Mr.  Ravenor !  He  is  a  famous 
man  !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  she  interrupted,  "  and  a  very 
dangerous  one.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  meet  him. 
The  chances  are  that  he  would  not  notice  you  if 
he  saw  you,  but  it  is  better  to  run  no  risks.  You 
will  remember  what  I  have  said  ?  A  man  of  his 
strange  views  and  principles  is  to  be  avoided— 
especially  by  an  impressionable  boy  like  you." 

She  left  me  dumbfounded,  crossed  the  lawn  with 
smooth,  even  footsteps,  and  entered  the  house. 


30  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

I  watched  her  disappear,  disturbed  and  uneasy. 
Something  in  her  manner  had  conveyed  a  strange 
impression  to  me.  I  could  not  help  thinking  that 
she  had  other  reasons  than  those  she  had  given 
for  wishing  to  keep  Mr.  Ravenor  and  me  apart. 
It  seemed  on  the  face  of  it  to  be  a  very  absurd 
notion,  but  it  had  laid  hold  of  me  and  her  sub- 
sequent conduct  did  not  tend  to  dispel  it. 

On  the  afternoon  of  his  expected  arrival  I  lin- 
gered about  for  hours  in  the  orchard,  hoping  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  him,  for  the  gates  of  the  park, 
opposite  our  house,  were  the  nearest  to  Mellborough 
Station.  But  I  was  disappointed.  He  came,  it 
is  true,  but  in  a  closed  brougham,  drawn  by  a 
pair  of  swift,  high-stepping  bays,  which  swept  like 
a  flash  by  the  hedge  over  which  I  was  looking, 
leaving  a  confused  recollection  of  glistening  harness, 
handsome  liveries,  and  a  dark,  noble  face,  partly 
turned  towards  me,  but  imperfectly  seen.  It  was 
a  glimpse  which  only  increased  my  interest ;  yet 
how  to  gratify  my  curiosity  hi  view  of  my  mother's 
wishes  I  could  not  tell. 

That  night  she  renewed  her  prohibition.  She 
came  to  me  in  the  little  room,  where  I  kept  my 
books  and  Penates,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  my 
shoulder.  Mr.  Ravenor  had  returned,  she  said- 
how  did  she  know,  save  that  she,  too,  had  been 
watching,  for  the  flag  was  not  yet  hoisted  ? — 
and  she  hoped  that  I  would  remember  what  her 
wishes  were. 

I  promised  that  I  would  observe  them,  as 
far  as  I  could,  although  they  seemed  to  me 
ridiculous,  and  I  did  not  hesitate  to  hint  as  much. 
What  was  more  unlikely  than  that  Mr.  Ravenor, 
distinguished  man  of  the  world,  should  take  the 
slightest  notice  of  a  country  boy,  much  more 
attempt  to  gain  any  sort  of  influence  over  him  ? 
The  more  I  thought  of  it  and  of  my  mother's 


RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR.  31 

nervous  fears,  the  more  I  grew  convinced,  against 
my  will,  of  some  other  motive  which  was  to  be 
kept  secret  from  me. 

A  week  passed  and  very  little  was  seen  of  Mr^ 
Ravenor  by  anyone.  As  usual,  many  rumours 
were  circulated  and  discussed.  He  was  reported 
to  have  shut  himself  up  in  his  library  and  to  have 
refused  admission  to  all  visitors.  He  was  living 
like  an  anchorite,  fasting  and  working  hard,  sur- 
rounded by  books  and  manuscripts  all  day  and 
night,  and  far  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning. 
He  was  doing  penance  for  recent  excesses ;  he 
was  preparing  for  some  wild  orgies ;  he  was 
writing  a  novel,  a  philosophical  pamphlet,  an 
article  for  the  reviews,  or  another  volume  of 
poems. 

Among  all  classes  of  our  neighbours  nothing 
else  was  talked  about  but  the  doings,  or  supposed 
doings,  of  Mr.  Ravenor. 

One  afternoon  chance  led  me  into  the  little  room 
which  my  mother  called  her  own,  a  room  I  seldom 
entered.  There  was  a  small  volume  lying  on  the 
table  and  carelessly  I  took  it  up  and  glanced  at 
the  title.  Then,  with  a  quick  exclamation  of  plea- 
sure, I  carried  it  away  with  me.  It  was  Mr.  Rave- 
nor's  first  little  volume  of  poems,  which  I  had  tried 
in  vain  to  get.  The  Mellborough  bookseller  of 
whom  I  had  ordered  it  told  me  that  it  was  out  of 
print.  The  first  edition  had  been  exhausted  long 
since  and  the  author  had  refused  to  allow  a  second 
edition  to  be  issued. 

I  met  my  mother  in  the  hall  and  held  out  the 
volume  to  her. 

"  You  never  told  me  that  you  had  a  copy  of 
Mr.  Ravenor's  poems,"  I  said  reproachfully.  "  I 
have  just  found  it  in  your  room." 

She  started,  and  for  a  moment  I  feared  that 
she  was  going  to  insist  upon  my  giving  up  the 


32  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

book.  She  did  not  do  so,  however  ;  but  I  noticed 
that  the  hand  which  was  resting  upon  the  banisters 
was  grasping  the  handrail  nervously,  as  though  for 
support,  and  that  she  was  white  to  the  very  lips. 
"  No  ;  I  had  forgotten,"  she  said  slowly — "  I 
mean  that  I  had  forgotten  you  had  ever  asked 
for  it.  Take  care  of  it,  Philip,  and  give  it  me  back 
to-night.  It  was  given  to  me  by  a  friend  and  I 
value  it." 

I  promised  and  left  the  house.  My  range  of 
pleasures  was  in  some  respects  a  limited  one,  but 
it  did  not  prevent  me  from  being  an  epicure  with 
regard  to  their  enjoyment.  I  did  not  glance  inside 
the  book,  although  I  was  longing  to  do  so,  until 
I  had  walked  five  or  six  miles  and  had  reached 
one  of  my  favourite  halting-places.  Then  I  threw 
myself  down  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  on  the 
top  of  Beacon  Hill  and  took  the  volume  from  my 
pocket. 

It  was  a  small,  olive-green  book,  delicately 
bound,  and  printed  upon  rough  paper.  It  had 
been  given  to  my  mother,  evidently,  for  her  Christian 
name  was  inside,  written  in  a  fine,  dashing  hand, 
and  underneath  were  some  initials  which  had  become 
indistinct.  Then,  having  satisfied  myself  of  this, 
and  handled  it  for  a  few  moments,  I  turned  over 
the  pages  rapidly  and  began  to  read. 

The  first  part  was  composed  almost  entirely  of 
sonnets  and  love-poems.  One  after  another  I  read 
them  and  wondered.  There  was  nothing  ama- 
teurish, nothing  weak,  here.  They  were  full  of 
glowing  imagery,  of  brilliant  colouring,  of  passion, 
of  fire.  Crude  some  of  them  seemed  to  me,  who 
had  read  no  modern  poetry  and  knew  many  of 
Shakespeare's  and  Milton's  sonnets  by  heart  ;  but 
full  of  genius,  nevertheless,  and  with  the  breath 
of  life  warm  in  them. 

The  second  portion  was  devoted  to  longer  poems 


RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR.  33 

and  these  I  liked  best.  There  was  in  some 
more  than  a  touch  of  the  graceful,  fascinating 
mysticism  of  Shelley,  the  passionate  outcry  of  a 
strong,  noble  mind,  seeking  to  wrest  from  Nature 
her  vast  secrets  and  to  fathom  the  mysteries  of 
existence  ;  the  wail  of  bewildered  nobility  of  soul 
turning  in  despair  from  the  cold  creeds  of  modern 
religion  to  seek  some  other  and  higher  form  of 
spiritual  life. 

I  read  on  until  the  sun  had  gone  down  and  the 
shades  of  twilight  had  chased  the  afterglow  from 
the  western  sky.  Then  I  closed  the  book  and 
rose  suddenly  with  a  great  start. 

Scarcely  a  dozen  yards  away,  on  the  extreme 
summit  of  the  hill,  a  man  on  horseback  sat  watching 
me.  His  unusually  tall  figure  and  the  fine  shape 
of  the  coal-black  horse  which  he  was  riding,  stood 
out  against  the  background  of  the  distant  sky 
with  a  vividness  which  seemed  almost  more  than 
natural.  Such  a  face  as  his  I  had  never  seen, 
never  imagined.  I  could  neither  describe  it,  nor 
think  of  anything  with  which  to  compare  it. 

Dark,  with  jet-black  hair,  and  complexion  per- 
fectly clear,  but  tanned  by  Southern  suns  ;  a  small, 
firm  mouth ;  a  high  forehead,  furrowed  with 
thought ;  aquiline  nose  ;  grey-blue  eyes,  powerful 
and  expressive — any  man  might  thus  be  described, 
and  yet  lack  altogether  the  wonderful  charm  of 
the  face  into  which  I  looked.  It  was  the  rare 
combination  of  perfect  classical  modelling  with 
intensity  of  character  and  nobility  of  intellect. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  king  among  men  ;  and  yet 
there  were  times  when  a  certain  smile  played  around 
those  iron  lips,  and  a  certain  light  flashed  in  those 
brilliant  eyes,  when  to  look  into  it  made  me  shudder. 
But  that  was  afterwards. 

He  remained  looking  at  me  and  I  at  him,  for 
fully  a  minute.  Then  he  beckoned  to  me  with 

* 


34  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

his  whip — a  slight  but  imperious  gesture.  I  rose 
and  walked  to  his  side. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  curtly. 

"  My  name  is  Philip  Morton,"  I  answered.  "  I 
live  at  Rothland  Wood  farmhouse." 

"  Son  of  the  man  who  was  murdered  ?  " 

I  assented.  He  gazed  at  me  fixedly,  with  the 
faintest  possible  expression  of  interest  in  his  languid 
grey  eyes. 

"  You  were  very  intent  upon  your  book,"  he 
remarked.  "  What  was  it  ?  " 

I  held  it  up. 

"  You  should  know  it,  sir,"  A  answered. 

He  glanced  at  the  title  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
slightly.  There  were  indications  of  a  frown  upon 
his  fine  forehead. 

"  You  should  be  able  to  employ  your  time  better 
than  that,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  am  fond  of  reading — 
especially  poetry,"  I  replied. 

The  idea  seemed  to  amuse  him,  for  he  smiled, 
and  the  stern  lines  in  his  countenance  relaxed  for 
a  moment.  Directly  his  lips  were  parted  his  whole 
expression  was  transformed  and  I  understood 
what  women  had  meant  when  they  talked  about 
the  fascination  of  his  face. 

"  Fond  of  reading,  are  you  ?  A  village  book- 
worm. Well,  they  say  that  to  book-lovers  every 
volume  has  a  language  and  a  mission  of  its  own. 
What  do  my  schoolboy  voices  tell  you  ?  " 

"  That  you  were  once  in  love,"  I  answered  quickly. 

A  half-amused,  half-contemptuous  shade  passed 
across  his  face. 

"  Youth  has  its  follies,  like  every  other  stage  of 
life,"  he  said.  "  I  daresay  I  experienced  the 
luxury  of  the  sensation  once,  but  it  must  have 
been  a  long  time  ago.  Come,  is  that  all  it  tells 
you  ?  " 


RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR.  35 

"  It  tells  me  that  men  lie  when  they  call  you 
an  Atheist." 

He  sat  quite  still  on  his  horse  and  the  smile  on 
his  lips  became  a  mocking  one. 

"  Atheism  was  most  unfashionable  when  those 
verses  were  written,"  he  remarked.  "  Any  other 
'  ism '  was  popular  enough,  but  Atheism  sounded 
ugly.  Besides,  I  was  only  a  boy  then.  Perhaps 
I  had  some  imagination  left.  It  is  a  gift  which 
one  loses  in  later  life." 

"  But  religion  is  not  dependent  upon  imagina- 
tion." 

"  Wholly.  Religion  is  an  effort  of  imagination 
and,  therefore,  is  more  or  less  a  matter  of  dispo- 
sition. That  is  one  of  its  chief  absurdities.  Women 
and  sensitive  boys  are  easiest  affected  by  it.  Men 
of  sturdy  common-sense,  men  with  brains  and  the 
knowledge  how  to  use  them,  are  every  day  burst- 
ing the  trammels  of  an  effete  orthodoxy." 

"  And  what  can  their  common-sense  and  their 
brains  give  them  in  its  place  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I 
cannot  conceive  any  practical  religion  without 
orthodoxy." 

"  A  little  measure  of  philosophy.  It  is  all  they 
want.  Only  the  faint-hearted,  who  have  not  the 
courage  to  contemplate  physical  annihilation,  con- 
sole themselves  by  building  up  a  hysterical  faith 
in  an  impossible  hereafter.  There  is  no  hereafter." 

"  A  horrible  creed  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"By  no  means.  Let  men  devote  half  the  time 
and  the  efforts  that  they  devote  to  this  phantasy 
of  religion  to  schooling  themselves  in  philosophic 
thought,  and  they  will  learn  to  contemplate  it 
unmoved.  To  recognise  that  the  end  of  life  is 
inevitable  is  to  rob  it  of  most  of  its  terrors,  save 
to  cowards.  The  man  who  wastes  a  tissue  of  his 
body  in  regretting  what  he  cannot  prevent  is  a 
fool.  Annihilation  is  a  more  comfortable  doctrine 


36  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

and  a  more  reasonable  one,  too.     Don't  you  agree 
with  me,  boy  ?  " 

"  No  ;  not  with  a  single  word  !  "  I  cried,  growing 
hot  and  a  little  angry,  for  I  could  see  that  he  was 
only  half  in  earnest  and  I  had  no  fancy  to  be  made 
a  butt  of.  "  Imagination  is  not  the  groundwork 
of  religion  ;  common-sense  is.  Why— 

"  Oh,  spare  me  the  stock  arguments  !  "  he  broke 
in,  with  a  slight  shudder.  "  Keep  your  religion 
and  hug  it  as  close  as  you  like,  if  you  find  it  any 
comfort  to  you.  Where  have  you  been  to  school  ?  " 

"  Nowhere,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  read  with 
Mr.  Sands,  the  curate  of  Rothland." 

He  laughed  softly  to  himself,  as  though  the  idea 
amused  him,  looking  at  me  all  the  time  as  though 
I  were  some  sort  of  natural  curiosity. 

"  Fond  of  reading,  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

'*  Yes.     Fonder  than  I  am  of  anything  else." 

"  And  your  books — where  do  they  come  from  ?  " 

"  Wherever  I  can  get  any.  From  the  library  at 
Mellborough,  or  from  Mr.  Sands,  most  of  themV' 

He  laughed  again  and  repeated  my  words,  as 
though  amused. 

"  No  wonder  you're  behind  the  times,"  he  re- 
marked. "  Now,  shall  I  lend  you  some  books  ? " 

I  shook  my  head  feebly,  for  I  was  longing  to 
accept  his  offer. 

"  I'm  afraid  your  sort  of  books  would  not  suit 
me,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  converted  to 
your  way  of  thinking.  It  seems  to  me  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  overtraining  of  the  mind." 

"  So  you  look  upon  me  as  a  sort  of  Mephistopheles, 
eh  ?  Well,  I've  no  ambition  to  make  a  convert  of 
you.  To  be  a  pessimist  is  to  be 

"  An  unhappy  man,"  I  interrupted  eagerly,  "  and 
a  very  narrow-minded  one,  too.  It  is  a  city-born 
creed.  No  one  could  live  out  here  in  the  country 
and  espouse  it !  " 


RAVENOR  OF  RAVENOR.  37 

"  Boy,  how  old  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Seventeen  next  birthday,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  You  have  a  glib  tongue — the  sign  of  an  empty 
head,  I  fear." 

"  Better  empty  than  full  of  unhealthy  philosophy," 
I  answered  bluntly. 

He  laughed  outright. 

"  The  country  air  has  sharpened  your  wits,  at 
any  rate,"  he  said.  "  You're  a  fool,  Philip  Morton  ; 
but  you  will  be  happier  in  your  folly  than  other 
men  in  their  wisdom.  There's  a  great  deal  of 
comfort  in  ignorance." 

He  gave  me  a  careless  yet  not  unkind  nod  and, 
wheeling  his  great  horse  round  with  a  turn  of  the 
wrist,  galloped  down  the  hills-' cle  and  across  the 
soft,  spongy  turf  at  a  pace  which  soon  carried  him 
out  of  sight.  But  I  stood  for  a  while  on  a  piece 
of  broken  rock  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  gazing 
after  hi*  retreating  figure,  and  watching  the  twinkling 
lights  from  the  many  villages  stretched  away  in 
the  valley  below.  The  sound  of  his  low,  strong 
voice  yet  vibrated  in  my  ears,  and  the  sad,  beautiful 
face,  with  its  languid  grey  eyes  and  weary  expression, 
seemed  still  by  my  side.  Already  I  began  to  feel 
something  of  the  influence  which  this  man  appeared 
to  exercise  over  everyone  whom  he  came  near ; 
and  I  felt  vaguely,  even  then,  that  if  suffered  to 
grow,  it  would  become  an  influence  all-powerful 
with  me. 

When  I  reached  home  it  was  late — so  late  that 
my  mother,  who  seldom  betrayed  any  interest  or 
curiosity  in  my  doings,  asked  me  questions.  I 
felt  a  curious  reluctance  at  first  to  tell  her  with 
whom  I  had  been  talking,  and  it  was  justified 
when  I  saw  the  effect  which  my  words  had  upon 
her.  A  look  almost  of  horror  filled  her  eyes  and 
her  face  was  white  with  anger.  It  was  as  though 
a  long-expected  blow  had  fallen. 


38  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

*'  At  last !  at  last !  "  she  murmured  to  herself, 
as  though  forgetful  of  my  presence.  Then  her 
eyes  closed  and  her  lips  moved  softly.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  she  was  praying. 

I  was  bewildered  and  inclined  to  be  angry 
that  she  should  carry  her  dislike  of  Mr.  Ravenor 
so  far.  Did  she  think  me  so  weak  and  impres- 
sionable that  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
any  man  could  bring  me  harm  ? 

"  You  carry  your  dislike  of  Mr.  Ravenor  a  little 
too  far,  mother,"  I  ventured  to  say.  "  What  can 
you  know  of  him  so  bad  that  you  see  danger  in 
my  having  talked  with  him  for  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  fixedly  and  grew  more  com- 
posed. 

"  It  is  too  late  now,  Philip,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone.  "  The  mischief  is  done.  If  I  could  have 
foreseen  this  we  would  have  gone  away." 

"  To  have  avoided  Mr.  Ravenor  ? "  I  cried* 
wondering. 

"  Yes." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

A     DOUBTFUL     VISITOR. 

LATE  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day  a 
visitor  rode  through  the  stack-yard  and  reined  in 
his  horse  before  our  door.  I  was  reading  in  the 
room  which  my  mother  chiefly  occupied  and, 
when  I  glanced  out  of  the  side-window,  overhung 
and  darkened  by  jessamine  and  honeysuckle,  I 
had  a  great  surprise.  The  book  dropped  from  my 
fingers  and  I  stood  still  for  a  moment,  uncertain 
what  to  do.  For  outside,  sitting  composedly  upon 
his  fine  black  horse  and  apparently  considering  as 
to  the  best  means  of  making  his  presence  known, 
was  Mr.  Ravenor. 

He  saw  me  and,  with  a  curt  but  not  ungracious 
motion  of  the  head,  beckoned  me  out.  I  went 
at  once  and  found  him  dismounted  and  standing 
upon  the  step. 

"  I  want  to  see  your  mother,  boy,"  he  said 
sharply.  "  Is  there  no  one  about  who  can  hold 
my  horse  ?  Where  are  all  the  farm-men  ?  " 

I  hesitated  and  stood  there  for  a  moment, 
awkward  and  confused.  My  mother's  strange  words 
concerning  him  were  still  ringing  in  my  ears. 
Supposing  she  refused  to  come  down  and  receive, 
as  a  visitor,  the  man  of  whom  she  had  spoken 
such  mysterious  words  ?  Nothing  appeared  to  me 
more  likely.  And  yet  what  was  I  to  do  ? 

39 


40  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

He  watched  me,  as  though  reading  my  thoughts. 
That  he  was  indeed  doing  so  I  very  quickly  dis- 
covered. 

"  Quick,  boy  !  "  he  said.  "  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  be  kept  waiting.  I  know  as  well  as  you 
do  that  I  am  not  a  welcome  visitor,  but  your 
mother  will  see  me,  nevertheless.  Call  one  of  the 
men  !  " 

I  passed  across  the  garden  and  entered  the  farm- 
yard. Jim,  the  waggoner,  was  there,  turning 
over  a  manure-heap,  and  I  returned  with  him  at 
my  heels.  Mr.  Ravenor  tossed  him  the  reins 
and,  stooping  low,  followed  me  into  our  little 
sitting-room. 

He  laid  his  whip  upon  the  table  and,  selecting 
the  most  comfortable  chair,  sat  down  leisurely 
and  crossed  his  legs.  He  was,  of  course,  entirely 
at  his  ease,  and  was  watching  my  discomposure 
with  a  quiet,  mocking  smile. 

"  Now  go  and  tell  your  mother  that  I  desire  to 
see  her  !  "  he  commanded. 

With  slow  steps  I  turned  away,  and,  mounting 
the  stairs,  knocked  at  her  door. 

"  Mother,  there  is  a  visitor  downstairs  !  "  I  called 
out  softly.  "  It  is " 

"  I  know,"  she  answered  calmly.  "  Go  away. 
I  shall  be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

I  went  downstairs  again  and  into  the  sitting- 
room,  breathing  more  freely.  Mr.  Ravenor  had 
not  stirred,  and  when  I  entered  appeared  to 
be  deep  in  thought.  At  the  sound  of  my  foot- 
steps, however,  his  expression  changed  at  once 
into  its  former  impassiveness.  He  glanced  round 
the  room  with  an  air  of  lazy  curiosity  and  his 
half-closed  eyes  rested  upon  my  little  case  of  books. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  Read 
me  out  the  titles." 

I  did  so,  with  just  an  inkling  of  reluctance,  for 


A  DOUBTFUL  VISITOR4  41 

my  collection  was  altogether  a  haphazard  one, 
precious  though  it  was  to  me.  Half-way  through 
he  checked  me. 

"  There,  that'll  do ! "  he  exclaimed,  laughing 
softly.  "  This  is  really  idyllic.  *  Abercrombie ' 
and  '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  *  Jeremy  Taylor '  and 
'  Thomas  a  Kempis.'  My  poor  boy,  if  you  have 
a  headpiece  at  all,  how  it  must  want  oiling  !  " 

I  was  a  little  indignant  at  his  tone  and  answered 
him  quickly. 

"  I  don't  know.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  should 
care  for  your  kind  of  books  very  much." 

He  arched  his  fine  eyebrows  and  the  smile  still 
lingered  around  his  lips. 

"  Indeed  !  And  why  not  ?  And  how  have  you 
been  able  to  divine  what  sort  of  books  mine  are, 
without  having  seen  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  don't  mean  that  exactly,"  I 
answered,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and 
thrusting  my  hands  deep  down  into  my  trousers 
pockets,  with  the  uncomfortable  sensation  that  I 
was  making  a  fool  of  myself.  "  I  was  judging 
from  what  you  said  you  were  last  night.  If  study 
has  only  brought  you  to  pessimism,  I  would  rather 
be  ignorant." 

"  You  really  are  a  wonderfully  wise  boy  for 
your  years,"  he  said,  still  smiling.  "  But  you 
must  remember  that  there  are  two  distinct  branches 
of  study.  One,  the  more  popular  and  the  more 
commonly  recognised,  leads  to  acquired  know- 
ledge— the  knowledge  of  facts  and  sciences  and 
languages  ;  the  other  is  the  pure  sharpening  and 
training  of  the  mind,  by  reading  other  men's 
thoughts  and  ideas  and  theories — in  short,  by  be- 
coming master  of  all  the  philosophical  writers  of 
all  nations.  Now,  it  is  the  latter  which  you 
would  have  to  avoid  in  order  to  retain  your 
present  Arcadian  simplicity ;  but  without  the 


42  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

former,  man  is  scarcely  above  the  level  of  an 
animal." 

"  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean,"  I  admitted. 
"  I  should  like  to  be  a  good  classical  scholar  and 
mathematician,  and  know  a  lot  of  things.  It 
seems  to  me,"  I  added  hesitatingly,  "  that  this 
sort  of  knowledge  is  quite  sufficient  to  strengthen 
and  train  the  mind.  The  other  would  be  very  likely 
to  overtrain  it  and  prove  unhealthy,  especially  if 
it  leads  everyone  where  it  has  led  you." 

"  Oh,  I  wanted  no  leading !  "  he  said  lightly. 
"  I  was  born  a  pessimist.  Schopenhauer  was  my 
earliest  friend,  Voltaire  my  teacher,  and  Shelley 
my  god  !  Matter  of  disposition,  of  course.  I  had 
too  little  imagination  to  care  a  rap  about  cul- 
tivating a  religion,  and  too  much  to  be  a  moralist. 
Your  mother  is  coming  at  last,  then  ?  " 

The  door  opened  and  I  looked  up  anxiously. 
The  words  of  introduction  which  had  been  trembling 
upon  my  lips  were  unuttered.  I  stood  as  helpless 
and  dumbfounded  as  a  ploughboy,  with  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  my  mother, 


CHAPTER   VII* 

A  MEETING  AND  A  METAMORPHOSISJ 

THAT  it  was  my  mother  I  could  not  at  first  believe. 
She  wore  a  plain  dark  dress,  with  a  black  lace 
kerchief  about  her  neck ;  but  a  dress,  simple 
though  it  was,  of  a  style  and  material  unlike  any 
that  I  had  ever  before  seen  her  wear.  Although 
I  knew  nothing  of  her  history,  I  had  always  sus- 
pected that  she  was  of  a  very  different  station 
from  my  father's,  and  at  that  moment  I  knew  it, 
for  it  seemed  as  though  she  had,  of  a  sudden,  made 
up  her  mind  to  assume  her  proper  position.  Not 
only  were  her  dress  and  the  fashion  of  arranging 
her  hair  unusual,  but  her  manners,  her  voice, 
her  whole  bearing  and  appearance  were  utterly 
changed.  It  was  as  though  she  had,  without  the 
slightest  warning,  dropped  the  mask  of  long  years, 
and  stepped  back,  like  a  flash,  into  the  personality 
which  belonged  to  her. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  change.  A  slight  pink 
flush  had  chased  the  leaden  pallor  from  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes,  which  had  of  late  seemed 
dull  and  heavy,  were  full  of  sparkling  light 
and  suppressed  animation.  Her  manners,  as 
well  as  her  personal  appearance,  all  bore  witness 
to  some  startling  metamorphosis.  I  was  more 
than  astonished ;  I  was  thunderstruck.  What 
seemed  to  me  most  wonderful  was  that  a  visit 

41 


44  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

from  the  man  against  whom  she  had  so  solemnly 
and  passionately  cautioned  me  should  thus  have 
galvanised  her  into  another  state  of  being. 

Mr.  Ravenor  rose  at  her  entrance  and  bowed 
with  the  easy  grace  of  a  man  of  the  world.  My 
mother  returned  his  greeting  with  a  stately  self- 
possession  which  matched  his  own  ;  but  it  struck 
me,  watching  them  both  closely,  that,  while  he  was 
perfectly  collected,  she  was  in  reality  far  from 
being  so.  I  could  see  the  delicate  white  fingers 
of  her  left  hand  fold  themselves  convulsively 
around  the  lace  handkerchief  which  she  was  carry- 
ing, and  when  she  entered  a  shiver — gone  in  a 
moment  and  perceptible  only  to  me,  because  my  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  her — shook  her  slim,  lithe  figure. 

But  in  the  few  commonplace  remarks  which  first 
passed  between  them  there  was  nothing  in  speech 
or  manner  that  betrayed  the  least  embarrassment. 
She  answered  him  as  one  of  his  own  order,  graciously, 
yet  just  allowing  him  to  see  that  his  visit  was  a 
surprise  to  her  and  that  she  expected  him  to 
declare  its  purpose.  I  have  dwelt  somewhat  upon 
this  meeting  for  reasons  which  will  be  sufficiently 
apparent  when  I  have  finished  my  story. 

After  a  few  remarks  about  the  farm,  the  crops, 
and  the  favourable  weather,  he  gave  the  wished- 
for  explanation. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  about 
your  son,  Mrs.  Morton,"  he  began  abruptly. 

She  and  I  looked  equally  astonished. 

"  I  am  a  man  of  few  words,"  he  continued 
"  The  few  which  I  desire  to  say  upon  this  subject 
had  better  be  said,  I  think,  to  you  alone,  Mrs. 
Morton." 

I  would  have  left  the  room  at  once,  but  my 
mother  prevented  me.  She  laid  a  trembling  hand 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  drew  me  closer  to  her. 

"  You  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Rave- 


A  MEETING  AND  A  METAMORPHOSIS.  45 

nor,  which  it  would  not  be  better  for  him  to  hear, 
especially  as  you  say  that  it  concerns  him." 

He  shrugged  his  high,  square  shoulders,  as 
though  indifferent ;  but  I  fancied,  nevertheless, 
that  a  shade  of  annoyance  lingered  in  his  face  for 
a  moment. 

"  Very  good  !  "  he  said  shortly.  "  Rumour  may 
have  told  you,  Mrs.  Morton,  if  you  ever  listen  to 
such  things,  that  I  am  a  very  wicked  man.  Pos- 
sibly !  I  don't  deny  it !  At  any  rate,  I  am,  by 
disposition  and  custom,  profoundly  selfish.  I  owe 
to  your  son  a  luxury — that  of  having  found  my 
thoughts  withdrawn  from  myself  for  a  few  minutes 
— with  me  a  most  rare  event. 

"  I  met  him  last  evening  and  talked  with  him. 
He  talked  like  a  fool,  it  is  true,  but  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Afterwards  I  thought  of  him  again ; 
wondered  what  you  were  going  to  do  with  him  ; 
remembered — pardon  me  ! — that  you  must  be 
poor ;  and  remembered,  also,  that  you  have 
suffered  through  a  servant  of  mine." 

He  paused.  For  nearly  half  a  minute  they 
looked  one  another  in  the  face — my  mother  and 
this  man.  There  was  something  in  her  rapt,  fas- 
cinated gaze,  and  in  the  keen,  brilliant  light  which 
flashed  from  his  dark  eyes  as  he  returned  it,  which 
seemed  strange  to  me.  It  was  like  a  challenge 
offered  and  accepted — a  duel  in  which  neither 
was  vanquished,  for  neither  flinched. 

"  It  occurred  to  me  then,"  he  continued  calmly, 
"  to  call  and  ask  you  what  you  intended  doing 
with  him,  and  to  plead,  as  excuses  for  the  sug- 
gestion which  I  am  about  to  make,  the  reasons 
which  I  have  just  stated.  I  am  a  rich  man,  as 
you  know,  and  the  money  would  be  nothing  to 
me.  I  wish  to  be  allowed  to  defray  the  expenses 
of  finishing  your  son's  education." 

It  seemed  to  me  a  magnificently  generous  offer, 


46  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

but  a  very  simple  one.  I  could  not  understand 
the  agitation  and  apparent  indecision  which  it 
caused  my  mother.  Her  prompt  refusal  I  could 
have  understood,  although  it  would  have  been  a 
blow  to  me.  But  this  mixture  of  horror  and  con- 
sternation, of  emotion  and  dismay,  I  could  make 
nothing  of.  The  feeling  which  I  had  imagined 
would  surely  be  manifested — gratitude — was  con- 
spicuous by  its  absence.  What  did  it  all  mean  ? 

My  mother  sat  down  and  Mr.  Ravenor  leaned 
back  in  his  armchair,  apparently  content  to  wait 
for  her  decision.  I  moved  across  the  room  to  her 
side  and  took  her  cold  fingers  into  mine. 

"  Mother,"  I  cried,  with  glowing  cheeks  and 
voice  trembling  with  eagerness,  "  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Why  do  you  not  say  '  yes  '  ?  You  know 
how  I  have  wanted  to  go  to  college  !  There  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  not  consent,  is  there  ?  " 

Mr.  Ravenor  smiled — a  very  slight  movement  of 
the  lips. 

"  If  your  mother  considers  your  interests  at 
all,"  he  said  calmly,  "  she  will  certainly  consent." 

I  was  about  to  speak,  but  my  mother  looked  up 
and  I  checked  the  words  on  my  lips. 

"  Mr.  Ravenor,"  she  said  quietly,  "  I  accept 
your  offer  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  That  is  all  I 
can  say." 

"  Quite  enough,"  he  remarked  nonchalantly. 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  I  should  like  you  to 
understand,"  she  added,  looking  up  at  him.  "  I 
consent,  it  is  true  ;  but,  had  it  not  been  for  another 
reason,  far  more  powerful  with  me  than  any  you 
have  urged,  I  never  should  have  done  so.  It  is  a 
reason  which  you  do  not  know  of — and  which  I 
pray  that  you  never  may  know  of,"  she  added,  in 
a  lower  key. 

He  made  no  answer ;  indeed,  he  seemed  little 
interested  in  my  mother's  words.  He  turned, 


A  MEETING  AND  A  METAMORPHOSIS.  47 

instead,  to  me  and  read  in  my  face  all  the  enthu- 
siasm which  hers  lacked.  I  would  have  spoken, 
but  he  held  up  his  hand  and  checked  me. 

"  Only  on  one  condition,"  he  said  coldly.  "No 
thanks.  I  hate  them  !  What  I  do  for  you  I  do 
to  please  myself.  The  money  which  it  will  cost 
me  is  no  more  than  I  have  thrown  away  many 
times  on  the  idlest  passing  pleasure.  I  have  simply 
chosen  to  gratify  a  whim,  and  it  happens  that  you 
are  the  gainer.  Remember  that  you  can  best 
show  your  gratitude  by  silence." 

His  words  fell  like  drops  of  ice  upon  my  im- 
petuosity. I  remained  silent  without  an  effort. 

"  From  what  you  said  just  now,"  he  continued, 
"  I  learn  that  it  has  been  your  desire  to  perfect 
your  education  in  a  fashion  which  you  could  not 
have  done  here.  Have  you  any  distinct  aims  ? 
I  mean,  have  you  any  definite  ideas  as  to  the 
future  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  never  dared  to  encourage  any,"  I  answered, 
truthfully  enough.  "  I  knew  that  we  were  poor 
and  that  I  should  have  to  think  about  earning 
my  living  soon — probably  as  a  schoolmaster." 

"  You  mean  to  say,  then,  that  you  have  never 
had  any  distinct  ambitions — everything  has  been 
vague  ?  " 

"  Except  one  thing,"  I  answered  slowly.  "  There 
is  one  thing  which  I  have  always  set  before  me  to 
accomplish  some  day,  but  it  is  scarcely  an  ambition 
and  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  career." 

"  Tell  it  to  me  !  "  he  commanded. 

I  did  so,  without  hesitation,  looking  him  full  in 
the  face  with  heightened  colour,  but  speaking 
with  all  the  determination  which  I  felt  in  my  heart. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  some  day  I 
will  find  the  man  Francis — the  man  who  murdered 
my  father  I " 


48  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

He  was  silent.  I  could  almost  have  fancied  that 
he  was  in  some  measure  moved  by  my  words,  and 
the  refined  beauty  of  his  dark  face  was  heightened 
for  a  moment  by  the  strange,  sad  look  which  flashed 
across  it.  Then  he  rose  and  took  up  his  riding- 
whip  from  the  table. 

"  A  boyish  enthusiasm,"  he  remarked  con- 
temptuously, as  he  made  his  way  towards  the 
door.  "  Where  the  cleverest  detectives  in  England 
have  failed,  you  hope  to  succeed.  Well,  I  wish 
you  success.  The  rascal  deserves  to  swing,  cer- 
tainly. You  will  hear  further  from  me  in  a  day 
or  two.  Good-morning  !  " 

He  left  the  room  abruptly  and  I  followed  him, 
stepping  bareheaded  out  into  the  sunshine  to  look 
about  for  Jim,  who  was  leading  his  horse  up.  and 
down  the  road. 

When  I  returned,  Mr.  Ravenor  was  still  standing 
upon  the  doorstep  watching  me  intently. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  speak  to  your  mother  for 
a  moment,"  he  said  slowly,  withdrawing  his  eyes 
from  my  face  at  last.  "  No ;  stop  where  you 
are  !  "  he  added  imperatively.  "  I  wish  to  speak 
to  her  alone." 

I  obeyed  him  and  wandered  about  the  orchard 
until  I  saw  him  come  out  and  gallop  furiously 
away  across  the  park.  Then  I  hurried  into  the 
house. 

"  Mother ! "  I  exclaimed,  calling  out  to  her 
before  I  had  opened  the  door  of  the  parlour — 
"  mother,  what  do  you " 

I  stopped  short  and  hurried  to  her  side,  alarmed 
at  her  appearance.  Her  cheeks,  even  her  lips, 
were  ashen  pale  and  her  eyes  were  closed.  She 
had  fainted  in  her  chair, 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


FOR  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  on  my  way  to 
Ravenor  Castle,  summoned  there  by  a  brief,  im- 
perious note  from  Mr.  Ravenor.  Often  had  I 
looked  longingly  from  the  distant  hills  of  the  park 
upon  its  grey,  rugged  towers  and  mighty  battle- 
ments ;  but  I  had  never  dared  to  clamber  over  the 
high  wall  into  the  inner  grounds,  nor  even  to  make 
my  way  up  the  servants'  drive  to  win  a  closer 
acquaintance  with  it. 

One  reason  why  I  had  abstained  from  doing 
what,  on  the  face  of  it,  would  seem  a  very  natural 
thing  to  do,  was  a  solemn  promise  to  my  mother, 
extracted  from  me  almost  as  soon  as  I  was  able 
to  get  about  by  myself,  never  to  pass  within  that 
great  boundary-wall  which  completely  encircled 
the  inner  grounds  and  wardens  of  the  castle.  But, 
apart  from  that,  the  thing  would  have  been  im- 
possible for  me,  in  any  case. 

I  have  already  said  that  Mr.  Ravenor  bore  the 
character  of  being  a  remarkably  eccentric  man. 
Perhaps  one  of  the  most  striking  manifestations 
of  this  eccentricity  lay  in  the  rigid  seclusion  in 
which  he  chose  to  live  while  at  the  Castle,  and  the 
extraordinary  precautions  which  he  had  taken  to 
prevent  all  intruders  and  visitors  of  every  sort 
from  obtaining  access  to  him. 

49  X> 


50  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

From  the  outer  part  there  was  indeed  no  attempt 
to  exclude  anyone  belonging  to  the  neighbourhood 
who  chose  to  ramble  about  there,  and  in  Mr.  Rave- 
nor's  absence  visitors  who  had  obtained  permission 
from  the  steward  were  occasionally  permitted  to 
drive  through  ;  but  to  the  grounds  and  the  Castle 
itself  access  was  simply  an  impossibility.  Had 
Ravenor  Castle  been  the  abode  of  a  sovereign, 
and  the  country  around  in  possession  of  a  hostile 
people,  the  precautions  could  scarcely  have  been 
more  rigorous. 

The  high  stone  wall,  which  encircled  the  Castle 
and  gardens  for  a  circuit  of  three-quarters  of  a  mile, 
effectually  shut  them  off  from  the  outside  world. 
The  postern-gates  with  which  it  was  pierced  were  of 
solid  iron,  and  the  locks  which  secured  them  were 
said  to  have  been  fashioned  by  a  Hindoo  whom 
Mr.  Ravenor  had  once  brought  home  with  him  from 
India,  and  to  be  perfectly  unique  in  their  design  and 
workmanship.  The  two  main  carriage  entrances, 
about  half  a  mile  apart,  were  remarkable  for  nothing 
but  the  fine  proportions  of  the  towering  iron  gates  ; 
but  they  were  always  kept  jealously  locked  and 
barred,  and  the  fate  of  the  uninvited  guest  who 
presented  himself  there  was  inevitable.  There 
was  no  admittance. 

The  afternoon  was  drawing  towards  a  close 
when  I  turned  the  last  corner  of  the  winding 
avenue  and  approached  the  entrance.  It  had 
been  a  wild,  blustering  day ;  but  just  before  I 
started  from  home  the  wind  had  dropped  and  a 
watery  sun,  feebly  piercing  the  masses  of  heavy 
clouds  with  which  the  sky  was  strewn,  was  shining 
down,  with  a  wan,  unnatural  glow,  upon  the  clumps 
of  fir-trees  on  either  side  of  the  way  and  the  massive, 
frowning  towers  of  the  Castle  close  above  me. 

Under  foot  and  around  me  everything  was  wet. 
With  the  faintest  stir  of  the  dying  breeze  showers  of 


AN  ABODE  OF  MYSTERY.  51 

raindrops  fell  from  shrubs  and  trees,  and  at  every 
step  my  feet  sank  into  the  soft,  soaked  gravel,  or 
sent  the  moisture  bubbling  up  from  the  layers  of 
rotten  leaves  and  twigs  which  the  morning's  gale 
had  scattered  along  the  road. 

It  was  an  afternoon  to  damp  anyone's  spirits  ; 
and  it  was  perhaps  to  the  influence  of  the  weather 
that  I  owed  the  sudden  sinking  of  heart  and  cour- 
age which  came  over  me  as  I  slackened  my  pace 
before  the  grim-looking  lodges  and  barred  gate. 
I  had  started  from  home,  notwithstanding  my 
mother's  white  face  and  nervous,  trembling  manner, 
in  a  state  of  pleasurable  excitement. 

I  was  about  to  penetrate  into  a  mystery  which 
had  been  the  curiosity  of  my  boyhood  ;  I  was  to 
become  one  of  those  favoured  few  who  had  been 
permitted  to  pass  within  the  portals  of  Ravenor 
Castle  ;  and,  more  than  that,  I  was  about  to  visit 
there  as  the  guest  of  a  man  whose  marvellous 
reputation,  personality,  and  career  had  kindled 
within  me  an  almost  passionate  reverence — a  man 
who  had  long  been  the  object  of  my  devoted, 
although  boyish  and  unreasonable,  hero-worship. 
Yet,  though  it  would  seem  that  I  had  everything 
to  gain  and  nothing  to  fear  or  lose  from  the  coming 
interview,  no  sooner  had  I  arrived  within  sight  of 
my  destination  than  my  spirits  sank  to  zero. 

A  woman  would  have  called  it  a  presentiment 
and  have  accepted  it  with  mute  despair.  To  me  it 
seemed  only  an  unreasonable  reaction  from  my 
previous  state  of  suppressed  excitement — a  feeling 
to  be  crushed  at  any  cost,  lest  I  should  stand,  with 
gloomy,  unthankful  face,  before  the  man  in  whose 
power  it  lay  to  raise  me  from  my  present  distasteful 
position  and  prospects.  So  I  threw  my  head  back 
and  quickened  my  steps,  keeping  resolutely  before 
me  in  my  thoughts  all  that  I  had  ventured  to  hope 
from  my  forthcoming  interview ;  and  by  the  time 


5a  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

I  stood  before  the  great  iron  gates  and  stretched 
out  my  hand  to  ring  the  bell,  the  depression  had 
almost  passed  away,  and  the  eagerness  which  I  felt 
was,  no  doubt,  fully  reflected  in  my  countenance. 

I  had  no  need  to  ring.  My  last  quick  footstep 
had  fallen  upon  a  harder  substance  than  the  gravel 
upon  which  I  had  been  walking,  and  the  contact 
of  my  feet  with  it  made  my  presence  known  in  a 
manner  which  surprised  me  not  a  little.  There 
was  a  shrill  ringing  from  the  lodge  door  on  my 
right,  and  almost  simultaneously  it  opened  and 
a  servant  came  out  in  the  dark  Ravenor  livery. 

"  Will  you  be  so  good,  sir,  as  to  step  off  the 
planking  ?  "  he  said. 

I  moved  a  yard  or  two  backwards,  and  the  bell 
— it  was  an  electric  bell,  of  course — instantly 
ceased.  It  was  my  first  experience  of  any  such 
means  of  communication,  and  I  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  down  in  some  bewilderment. 

"  Your  name  and  business,  sir  ?  "  the  man  in- 
quired respectfully.  "  Did  you  wish  to  see  Mr. 
Clemson  ?  "  Mr.  Clemson  was  the  steward. 

"  My  name  is  Morton,  and  my  business  is  with 
Mr.  Ravenor,"  I  answered.  "  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Ravenor  will  not  be  able 
to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Have  you  an  appoint- 
ment ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  for  five  o'clock,"  I  answered.  And  the 
words  had  scarcely  left  my  lips  before  the  first 
stroke  of  the  hour  boomed  out  from  the  great  Castle 
clock.  Perhaps,  more  than  anything  else  could 
have  done,  that  sound  brought  home  to  me  the 
realisation  of  where  I  was.  Hour  after  hour,  all 
through  my  life,  from  the  depths  of  Rothland 
Wood,  from  the  home  meadows,  or  in  my  long 
rambles  over  the  far-away  Barnwood  Hills,  I  had 
heard  those  deep,  throbbing  chimes ;  sometimes 
faint  and  low,  when  the  wind  bore  the  sound  away 


AN  ABODE  OF  MYSTERY.  53 

from  me,  sometimes  harsh  and  piercing  in  the  storm, 
and  often  as  clear  and  distinct  as  though  only  a 
sheet  of  water  stretched  between  us.  And  now  I 
stood  almost  within  a  stone's  throw  of  them,  and 
marvelled  no  longer  that  the  deep,  resounding 
notes  should  travel  so  far  over  hill  and  moor  that 
I  had  never  yet  been  able  to  wander  out  of  hearing 
of  them. 

The  man  accepted  my  explanation  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  and,  standing  aside  from 
the  doorway  out  of  which  he  had  issued,  motioned 
me  to  enter.  I  did  so  and  received  a  fresh  sur- 
prise. Instead  of  rinding  myself  in  the  home  of 
one  of  the  servants  of  the  estate,  which  would 
have  seemed  the  natural  thing,  I  found  myself 
in  a  most  luxuriously  furnished  waiting-room, 
hung  with  mirrors  and  oak-framed  paintings  upon 
a  dark  panelled  wall.  My  feet  sank  into  a  thick 
carpet,  and  I  subsided,  a  little  dazed,  into  a  low, 
crimson  velvet  chair,  and  found  beside  me  a  table 
covered  with  magazines. 

The  man  followed  me  into  the  room,  and,  as  he 
passed  on  his  way  to  its  upper  end,  he  wheeled 
towards  me  a  smaller  table  on  which  were  decanters 
and  glasses  and  a  long  box  of  cigarettes.  Scarcely 
glancing  at  them,  I  watched  him  unlock  a  tall 
cupboard  and  half  vanish  inside  it. 

He  remained  there  for  a  space  of  almost  five 
minutes.  Then  he  stepped  out,  carefully  locked 
it  and  advanced  towards  me.  I  fancied  that 
there  was  a  shade  more  respect  in  his  manner 
and  certainly  some  surprise. 

"  Mr.  Ravenor's  servant  will  be  here  in  a  few 
minutes,  sir,  to  show  you  the  way  to  the  Castle." 

I  thought  that  I  could  have  found  it  very  well 
by  myself,  but,  of  course,  I  could  not  say  so.  I 
occupied  myself  by  examining  the  contents  of  the 
room,  and  struggled  for  a  few  moments  between 


54  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

a  feeling  of  strong  curiosity  and  a  natural  dis- 
inclination to  ask  questions  of  a  servant,  especially 
one  whose  manner  seemed  so  little  to  invite  them. 
Finally  the  former  conquered. 

"  How  did  you  find  that  out  without  leaving 
this  room  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  pointed  to  the  cupboard. 

"  We  have  a  telephone  there  in  connection  with 
the  Castle,  sir,"  he  explained.  Then  he  busied 
himself  arranging  some  papers  on  a  table  at  the 
other  end  of  the  apartment,  with  the  obvious  air 
of  not  desiring  to  be  questioned  further. 

The  explanation  was  so  simple  that  I  smiled. 
I  began  to  realise  the  very  insufficient  causes 
which  had  given  rise  to  the  stories  which  were 
always  floating  about  concerning  the  mystery 
in  which  the  master  of  Ravenor  Castle  chose  to 
dwell.  What  more  natural  than  that  a  man  of 
liberal  education,  with  a  passion  for  absolute  soli- 
tude, should  seek  to  insure  it  by  some  such  means 
as  these,  by  the  application  of  very  simple  scientific 
devices,  common  enough  in  a  city,  but  unheard 
of  in  our  quiet  country  neighbourhood  ? 

I  was  kept  waiting  for  about  a  quarter  of  an 
hour.  Then  the  door  was  opened  noiselessly  from 
without  and  a  tall,  dark  man,  clean-shaven  and 
dressed  in  black,  relieved  by  an  immaculate  white 
tie,  entered  and  looked  at  me.  I  rose  to  my  feet 
and  threw  down  the  magazine  which  I  had  been 
pretending  to  read. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Morton  ?  "  he  inquired,  in  a  sub- 
dued tone,  glancing  steadily  at  me  the  while  with 
somewhat  puzzled,  criticising  gaze,  which,  perhaps 
unreasonably,  annoyed  me  extremely.  It  was  an 
annoyance  which  I  took  pains  not  to  show,  how- 
ever, for  something  about  the  personality  of  the 
man  impressed  me.  His  manner,  though  studiously 
respectful,  was  not  without  a  certain  quiet  dignity, 


AN  ABODE  OF  MYSTERY.  55 

and  his  thin  oval  face — thin  almost  to  emaciation 
— had  in  it  more  than  a  suspicion  of  refinement. 
My  first  glance,  whilst  I  was  undergoing  his  brief 
scrutiny,  assured  me  that  this  was  no  ordinary 
servant. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  I  answered.  "  You  have 
come  to  take  me  to  Mr.  Ravenor  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  follow  me,  sir." 

I  took  up  my  cap  and  did  so,  taking  long,  swing- 
ing strides  up  the  steep  ascent,  hoping  thereby 
to  gain  his  side  and  ask  him  a  few  questions  about 
the  place.  But  he  prevented  this  by  hurrying  on 
when  I  was  close  behind  him  ;  so,  after  the  third 
attempt  I  gave  it  up,  and  contented  myself  by 
looking  around  me  as  much  as  I  could,  and  making 
the  most  of  the  short  walk. 

On  one  side  of  the  drive — I  had  been  along  few 
highways  as  wide — was  a  tall  yew  hedge,  which 
shut  out  little  from  my  view,  for  the  thick  black 
pine-wood  which  overtopped  and  formed  so  striking 
a  background  to  the  grand  old  Castle  had  never 
been  thinned  in  this  direction,  and  stretched  away 
in  a  wide,  irregular  belt,  skirting  the  long  line  of 
out-buildings  to  the  hills  and  beyond.  But  on 
the  right  hand  only  a  low  ring-fence  separated  us 
from  the  grounds  immediately  in  front  of  the  Castle, 
which  a  sudden  bend  in  the  sharply  winding  road 
brought  into  full  view. 

My  absolute  ignorance  of  architecture  forbids 
my  attempting  to  describe  it,  save  in  its  general 
effect.  I  remember  even  now  what  that  effect  was 
upon  me  when  I  stood  for  the  first  time  almost  at 
its  foot.  At  a  distance  its  frowning  battlements 
and  worn  grey  turrets  had  a  majestic  appearance ; 
but,  standing  as  I  did  then,  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  its  vast,  imposing  front,  and  almost  under 
the  shadow  of  its  walls  and  towers,  its  effect  was 
nothing  short  of  awe-inspiring. 


56  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

I  almost  held  my  breath  as  I  gazed  upon  it 
and  the  terrace  lawns,  sloping  away  below,  smooth- 
shaven,  velvetty,  the  very  perfection  of  English 
turf.  Not  that  I  had  much  time  to  look  about 
me.  On  the  contrary,  my  conductor  never  once 
slackened  his  pace,  and  when  I  involuntarily 
paused  for  a  moment,  with  eyes  riveted  upon  the 
magnificent  pile  before  me,  he  looked  round  sharply 
and  beckoned  me  impatiently  to  proceed. 

"  Mr.  Ravenor  is  not  used  to  be  kept  waiting, 
sir,"  he  remarked,  "  and  will  be  expecting  us/' 

I  pulled  myself  together  with  an  effort  and 
followed  him  more  closely.  We  passed  under  a 
bridge  of  solid  masonry,  moss-encrusted,  and  in- 
dented with  the  storms  of  ages  and  the  ruder 
marks  of  battering-ram  and  cannon,  across  a  wide, 
circular  courtyard  protected  by  massive  iron  gates, 
which  rolled  slowly  open  before  us  with  many  pon- 
derous creakings  and  gratings,  as  though  reluctant 
to  admit  a  stranger,  into  a  great,  white,  stone- 
paved  hall,  dimly  lighted,  yet  sufficiently  so  to 
enable  me  to  perceive  the  long  rows  of  armoured 
warriors  which  lined  the  walls,  and  the  lances  and 
spears  and  shields  which  flashed  above  their 
heads. 

We  passed  straight  across  it,  our  footsteps 
awakening  clattering  echoes  as  they  fell  on  the 
polished  flags,  through  a  door  on  the  opposite  side, 
into  a  room  which  nearly  took  my  breath  away. 
From  the  high,  vaulted  ceiling  to  the  floor,  on 
every  side  of  the  apartment,  were  books — nothing 
but  books. 

Two  men — one  old,  the  other  of  about  my  own 
age — looked  up  from  a  table  as  we  entered  and 
paused  in  their  work,  which  seemed  to  be  cata- 
loguing ;  but  my  guide  passed  them  without  re- 
mark or  notice,  and  walked  straight  across  the 
room  to  where  a  crimson  curtain,  hanging  down 


AN  ABODE  OF  MYSTERY,  57 

in  thick  folds,  concealed  a  black  oak  door.  Here 
he  knocked,  and  I  waited  by  his  side  until  the 
answer  came  in  that  clear,  low  tone,  which,  though 
I  had  heard  it  but  once  or  twice  before,  I  could 
have  recognised  in  a  thousand.  Then  my  guide 
turned  the  handle  and,  silently  motioning  me  to 
enter,  left  me, 


CHAPTER     IX. 

MR.  MARX4 

AT  first  I  had  eyes  only  for  the  dark  figure  seated 
a  few  yards  away  from  me  at  a  small  writing-table 
drawn  into  the  centre  of  the  room.  He  was  bend- 
ing low  over  his  desk  and  never  even  raised  his 
eyes  or  ceased  writing  at  my  entrance.  Before 
him  on  the  table,  and  scattered  around  his  chair 
on  the  floor,  were  many  sheets  of  white  foolscap 
covered  with  his  broad,  firm  handwriting,  some 
with  the  ink  scarcely  dry  upon  them ;  and 
while  I  stood  before  him  he  impatiently  swept 
another  one  from  his  desk  and,  without  waiting 
to  see  it  flutter  to  the  ground,  began  a  fresh 
sheet. 

A  glass  of  water,  a  few  dry  biscuits,  and  a  little 
pile  of  books — some  turned  face-downwards — were 
by  his  side.  Nothing  else  was  on  the  table,  save 
a  great  pile  of  unused  paper,  a  watch  detached 
from  its  chain,  and  a  heavily- shaded  lamp,  which 
threw  a  ghastly  light  upon  his  white,  worn  face, 
and  his  dry,  brilliant  eyes,  under  which  were  faintly 
engraven  the  dark  runs  of  the  student. 

I  watched  him  for  a  while,  fascinated.  Then, 
as  he  took  not  the  slightest  notice  of  me,  my 
eyes  began  to  wander  round  the  room.  It  was 
hexagonal  and,  on  every  side  save  one,  lined  from 
the  floor  to  the  high  ceiling  with  books,  The 


MR.  MARXj  59 

furniture  was  all  of  black  oak,  as  also  were  the 
bookshelves,  and  the  carpet  and  hangings  were 
of  a  deep  olive-green.  The  mantelpiece  and  in- 
laid grate  were  of  black  marble,  faintly  relieved 
with  gold,  and  within  the  polished  bars  of  the 
grate  a  small  fire  was  burning. 

There  was  nothing  cheerful  about  the  apart- 
ment ;  on  the  contrary,  it  struck  me  as  being, 
though  magnificent,  sombre  and  heavy,  wrapped 
as  it  was  in  the  gloom  of  a  dismal  twilight,  which 
the  flickering  fire  and  the  shaded  lamp  failed  to 
pierce.  From  the  high  French  windows,  I  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  a  long  stretch  of  soddened 
lawn,  beyond  which  everything  was  shrouded  in  the 
semi-obscurity  of  the  fast-falling  dusk,  deepened  by 
the  grey,  cloudy  sky.  But  I  chose,  after  my  first 
glance  around  the  room,  to  keep  my  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  man  who  sat  writing  before  me,  the  man 
in  whom  already  I  felt  an  interest  so  strong  as  to 
deaden  all  the  curiosity  which  I  might  otherwise 
have  felt  as  to  my  surroundings. 

At  last  he  seemed  conscious  of  my  presences 
Lifting  his  eyes,  to  give  them  a  momentary  rest, 
he  encountered  my  fixed  gaze.  For  a  moment  he 
looked  at  me  in  a  puzzled  manner,  as  though  wonder- 
ing how  I  came  there.  Then  his  expression  changed 
and,  putting  down  his  pen,  he  pushed  his  papers 
away  from  him. 

"  So  you  have  come,  Philip  Morton,"  he  said. 

To  so  self-evident  a  statement  I  could  return 
no  answer,  save  a  brief  affirmative.  He  seemed 
to  expect  nothing  more,  however. 

"  How  old  did  you  say  you  were  ?  "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Seventeen,  sir." 

It  was  quite  five  minutes  before  he  spoke  again, 
during  which  time  he  sat  with  knitted  brows  and 
eyes  fixed  intently  but  absently  upon  me,  deep  in 


60  MR;  MARX'S  SECRETj 

thought,  and  thought  of  which  it  seemed  to  me 
somehow  that  I  must  be  the  subject. 

"  Where  were  you  born  ?  " 

"  At  the  farm,  sir — at  least,  I  suppose  so." 

It  flashed  into  my  mind  at  that  moment  that  I 
had  never  heard  the  period  of  my  earliest  child- 
hood spoken  of  either  by  my  father  or  mother. 
But  it  was  only  a  passing  thought,  dismissed  almost 
as  soon  as  conceived.  Had  we  not  always  lived 
at  the  farm  ?  Where  else  could  I  have  been  born  ? 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  your  mother's  relations  ?  " 
Mr.  Ravenor  asked,  taking  no  notice  of  the  qualify- 
ing addition  to  my  previous  answer. 

I  shook  my  head.  I  had  never  seen  or  heard 
of  any  of  them,  and  it  was  a  circumstance  upon 
which  I  had  more  than  once  pondered.  But  my 
mother's  reserved  demeanour  towards  me  of  late 
years  had  checked  many  questions  which  I  might 
otherwise  have  felt  inclined  to  ask  her.  There 
was  a  brief  silence,  during  which  Mr.  Ravenor 
sat  with  his  face  half  turned  away  from  me,  resting 
it  lightly  upon  the  long,  delicate  fingers  of  his 
left  hand. 

"  You  are  a  little  young  for  college,"  he  said 
presently,  in  a  more  matter-of-fact  tone ;  "  be- 
sides which,  I  doubt  whether  you  are  quite  ad- 
vanced enough.  I  have  decided,  therefore,  to 
send  you  for  two  years  to  a  clergyman  in  Lincoln- 
shire who  receives  a  few  pupils,  my  own  nephew 
among  them.  He  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  will 
give  some  shape  to  your  studies.  There  are  one 
or  two  things  which  I  shall  ask  you  to  remember 
when  you  get  there,"  he  went  on. 

"  First,  that  this  little  arrangement  between 
your  mother,  yourself,  and  me  remains  absolutely 
a  secret  among  us.  Also  that  you  seek,  or,  at  any 
rate,  do  not  refuse,  the  friendship  of  my  nephew, 
Cecil,  Lord  Silchester.  From  what  I  can  learn  I  fear 


MR.  MARX.  61 

that  he  is  behaving  in  a  most  unsatisfactory  manner, 
and,  as  I  know  him  to  be  weak-minded  and  easily 
led,  his  behaviour  at  present  and  his  character 
in  the  future  are  to  a  great  extent  dependent 
upon  the  influence  which  his  immediate  com- 
panions may  have  over  him.  You  understand 
me?" 

I  assented  silently,  for  words  at  that  moment 
were  not  at  my  command  ;  my  cheeks  were  flushed, 
and  my  heart  was  beating  with  pleasure  at  the 
confidence  in  me  which  Mr.  Ravenor's  words 
implied.  That  moment  was  one  of  the  sweetest 
of  my  life. 

"  I  do  not,  of  course,  wish  you  to  play  the  spy 
in  any  way  upon  my  nephew,"  Mr.  Ravenor  con- 
tinued, "  but  I  shall  expect  you  to  tell  me  the  un- 
biassed truth  should  I  at  any  time  ask  you  any 
questions  concerning  him  ;  and  if  you  think,  after 
you  have  been  there  some  time  and  have  had  an 
opportunity  of  judging,  that  he  would  be  likely 
to  do  better  elsewhere,  under  stricter  discipline 
than  at  Dr.  Randall's,  I  shall  expect  you  to 
tell  me  so.  In  plain  words,  Philip  Morton,  I 
ask  you  to  take  an  interest  in  and  look  after  my 
nephew." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  sir,"  I  answered  fervently. 

"  A  youthful  Mentor,  very  !  " 

The  words,  accompanied  by  something  closely 
resembling  a  sneer,  came  from  neither  Mr.  Ravenor 
nor  myself.  Either  a  third  person  must  have  been 
in  the  room  before  my  arrival  and  during  the 
whole  of  our  conversation,  or  he  must  have  entered 
it  since  by  some  means  unknown  to  me,  for  almost 
at  my  elbow,  on  the  side  remote  from  the  door, 
stood  the  man  who  had  broken  in,  without  apology 
or  explanation,  upon  our  interview. 

Both  from  the  strange  manner  of  his  attire  and 
on  account  of  his  personality,  I  could  not  repress 


62  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

a  strong  curiosity  in  the  new-comer.  He  was 
above  the  average  height,  but  of  awkward  and 
ungainly  figure,  its  massiveness  enhanced  by  the 
long  black  dressing-gown  which  was  wrapped  loosely 
around  him.  His  hair  and  beard  were  of  a  deep 
reddish  hue,  the  former  partly  concealed  by  a 
black  silk  skull-cap,  and  he  wore  thick  blue 
spectacles,  which  by  no  means  added  to  the  at- 
tractiveness of  his  face  ;  his  features — those  which 
were  visible — were  good,  but  their  effect  was  com- 
pletely spoilt  by  the  disfiguring  glasses  and  his 
curious  complexion.  There  was  an  air  of  power 
about  him  difficult  to  analyse,  but  sufficiently 
apparent,  which  altogether  redeemed  him  from 
coarseness,  or  even  mediocrity ;  and  his  voice, 
too,  was  good.  But  my  impressions  concerning 
him  were  very  mixed  ones. 

He  was  evidently  someone  of  account  in  the 
household,  for  he  stood  on  the  hearthrug  with  his 
hands  thrust  into  his  loose  pockets,  completely 
at  his  ease,  and  without  making  any  apology  for 
his  unceremonious  appearance.  When  I  first 
turned  to  look  at  him  he  was  examining  me  with 
a  cold,  critical  stare,  which  made  me  feel  uncom- 
fortable without  knowing  why. 

"  Who  is  the  young  gentleman  ? "  he  asked, 
turning  to  Mr.  Ravenor.  "  Won't  you  introduce 
me?" 

Mr.  Ravenor  took  up  some  papers  lying  on  the 
table  before  him  and  began  to  sort  them. 

"  It  is  Philip  Morton,  the  son  of  the  man  who 
was  murdered  in  Rothland  Wood,"  he  answered 
quietly.  "I  am  going  to  undertake  his  educa- 
tion." 

"  Indeed !  You're  becoming  quite  a  philan- 
thropist," was  the  reply.  "  But  why  not  send  him 
to  a  public  school  at  once  ?  " 

"  Because   a  public  school   would  be  just   the 


MR.  MARX.  63 

worst  place  for  him,"  Mr.  Ravenor  answered  coldly. 
"  His  education  has  been  good  enough  up  to  now, 
I  dare  say,  but  it  has  not  been  systematic.  It 
wants  shape  and  proportion,  and  Dr.  Randall  is 
just  the  man  to  see  to  that." 

The  new-comer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  private  tutors,"  he  remarked. 

"  That  scarcely  affects  the  question,"  Mr.  Rave- 
nor answered,  a  little  haughtily.  "  Are  you  ready 
for  me,  Marx  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  presently.  I  had  very  nearly  finished 
when  the  sound  of  voices  tempted  me  out  to  see 
whom  you  had  admitted  into  your  august  pre- 
sence. You  have  not  completed  the  introduction." 

Mr.  Ravenor  turned  to  me  with  a  slight  frown 
upon  his  fine  forehead. 

"  Morton,"  he  said,  "  this  is  Mr.  Marx,  my  private 
secretary  and  collaborator." 

We  exchanged  greetings,  and  I  looked  at  him 
with  revived  interest.  The  man  who  was  worthy 
to  work  with  Mr.  Ravenor  must  be  a  scholar  in- 
deed, and,  on  the  whole,  Mr.  Marx  looked  it.  I 
almost  forgave  him  his  supercilious  speech  and 
patronising  manner. 

"  You  have  quite  settled,  then,  to  send  this 
young  man  to  Dr.  Randall's  ? "  Mr.  Marx  said 
calmly. 

"  I  have.  There  are  one  or  two  more  matters 
which  I  have  not  yet  mentioned  to  him,  so  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  you  again  in  half  an  hour,"  Mr. 
Ravenor  remarked,  glancing  at  his  watch. 

Mr.  Marx  nodded  to  me  in  a  not  unfriendly 
manner,  and,  lifting  a  curtain,  which  I  had  not 
noticed  before,  disappeared  into  a  smaller  apart- 
ment. 

Mr.  Ravenor  waited  until  he  was  out  of  hearing 
and  then  turned  towards  me. 

"I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  necessary  for  me 


64  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

to  mention  it,  as  you  may  possibly  not  come  into 
contact  again,"  he  said  slowly ;  "  but  in  case 
you  should  do  so,  remember  this  :  I  wish  you  to 
have  as  little  to  do  with  Mr.  Marx  as  possible. 
You—" 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  I  started  and  looked 
round,  half  amazed,  half  frightened.  The  con- 
tinuous sound  of  an  electric-bell,  which  seemed 
to  come  from  within  a  few  feet  of  me,  was  echoing 
through  the  room, 


CHAPTER   Xj 

LADY    SILCHESTER. 

MR.  RAVENOR  sat  like  a  man  stunned  by  a  sudden 
shock,  while  the  shrill  ringing  grew  more  and  more 
imperative.  Then  suddenly,  when  I  least  ex- 
pected it,  he  spoke,  and  the  fact  that  his  calm, 
even  tone  betrayed  not  the  slightest  sign  of  agita- 
tion or  anything  approaching  to  it,  was  a  great 
relief  to  me.  After  all,  his  silence  might  have  meant 
indifference. 

"  Go  over  there,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  corner 
of  the  room  from  which  the  sound  came. 

I  did  so  and  saw  just  before  me  what  seemed 
to  be  a  dark  mahogany  box  let  into  the  wall. 

"  Touch  that  knob,"  he  commanded,  "  and  put 
your  ear  to  the  tube." 

I  had  scarcely  done  so  when  a  quick,  agitated 
voice,  which  I  recognised  as  the  voice  of  the  man 
who  had  admitted  me  at  the  lodge  gate,  began 
speaking.  I  repeated  his  words  to  Mr.  Ravenor. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir ;  but  while  I  stepped  in 
here  to  announce  her,  Lady  Silchester  has  driven 
through.  She  is  alone." 

Mr.  Ravenor  made  no  sign  of  annoyance  or  sur- 
prise. I  could  not  tell  whether  the  news  was  a 
relief  to  him,  or  the  reverse. 

"  Is  there  any  answer,  sir  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes.    Tell  him  to  come  to  the  steward  for  his 

63  B 


66  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

wages  in  an  hour's  time  and  be  prepared  to  leave 
this  evening." 

I  hesitated  and  then  repeated  the  words.  Mr. 
Ravenor  watched  me  keenly. 

"  You  are  thinking  that  I  am  a  stern  master," 
he  said  abruptly. 

It  was  exactly  what  had  been  passing  through 
my  mind  and  I  confessed  it.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  I  like  to  be  obeyed  implicitly,  and  to  the  letter," 
he  said.  "  If  a  quarter  of  the  people  who  present 
themselves  here  to  see  me  were  allowed  to  pass 
through  to  my  Castle,  my  leisure,  which  is  of  some 
value  to  me,  would  be  continually  broken  in  upon. 
Anderson  has  been  careful  hitherto,  however,  and 
this  must  be  a  lesson  to  him.  You  can  tell  him 
as  you  go  out  that  I  will  give  him  one  more  chance.'1 

I  rose,  with  my  cap  in  hand,  but  he  waved  me 
back. 

"  I  have  a  letter  to  write  to  your  mother,"  he 
said,  drawing  some  notepaper  towards  him.  "  Wait 
a  minute  or  two." 

I  strolled  over  to  the  high  French  windows  and 
looked  out  upon  the  grey  twilight.  I  had  scarcely 
stood  there  for  a  moment  when  the  sound  of  horses' 
feet  and  smoothly  rolling  wheels  coming  up  the 
broad  drive  told  me  that  Mr.  Ravenor's  visitor 
was  at  hand,  and  immediately  afterwards  a  small 
brougham  flashed  past  the  window  and,  describing 
a  semi-circle,  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  hall  door. 
A  footman  leaped  down  from  the  box  and  several 
servants  stood  on  the  steps  and  respectfully  saluted 
the  lady  who  had  alighted  from  the  carriage.  A 
moment  or  two  later  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  answered  Mr.  Ravenor,  without 
looking  up,  or  even  ceasing  his  writing,  for  I  could 
hear  the  broad  quill  dashing  away  without  a  pause 
over  the  notepaper. 


LADY  SILCHESTER.  67 

A  servant  threw  open  the  door  and  announced 
"  Lady  Silchester,"  and  a  tall  woman,  wrapped 
from  head  to  foot  in  dark  brown  furs,  swept  past 
him  and  entered  the  room. 

A  single  glance  at  the  slim,  majestic  figure,  and 
at  the  classical  outline  of  her  face,  told  me  who 
she  was  and  told  me  rightly.  It  was  Mr.  Ravenor's 
sister. 

Mr.  Ravenor  rose  and,  without  putting  his  pen 
down,  welcomed  Lady  Silchester  with  cold,  frigid 
courtesy,  which  she  seemed  determined,  however, 
not  to  notice. 

"  Quite  an  unexpected  visit,  this,  isn't  it  ?  "  she 
exclaimed,  sinking  into  an  easy  chair  before  the 
fire  with  a  little  shiver.  "  I  never  was  so  cold  ! 
These  autumn  mists  are  awful,  and  I've  had  a 
twelve-mile  drive.  What  a  dreary  room  you  have 
made  of  this  ! "  she  added,  looking  round  with 
a  little  shrug  of  her  shoulders  and  putting  her 
hands  farther  into  her  muff.  "  How  can  you  sit 
here  in  this  ghostly  light  with  only  one  lamp — 
and  such  a  fire,  too  ?  " 

He  smiled  grimly,  but  it  was  not  a  smile  which 
heralded  any  increase  of  geniality  in  his  manner. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  receiving  ladies  here," 
he  remarked,  "  and  I  did  not  expect  you.  Where 
have  you  come  from  ?  I  thought  you  were  in 
Rome." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  wish  we  were.  We  came  back  last  week 
and  I  went  straight  down  to  the  Cedars — Tom's 
place  at  Melton,  you  know.  I  don't  think  I've 
been  warm  since  I  landed  in  England.  Just  now 
I'm  nearly  frozen  to  death." 

"  I  think  you  would  find  one  of  the  rooms  in 
the  other  wing  more  comfortable,"  he  said,  after 
a  short  pause  ;  "  besides  which  I  am  engaged  at 
present.  You  dine  here,  of  course  ?  " 


68  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  By  all  means,"  she  answered.  "  You  wouldn't 
send  me  back  to  Melton  dinnerless,  would  you. 
even  if  I  have  come  without  an  invitation  ?  I  am 
dying  for  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Mrs.  Ross  shall  send  you  anything  you  want," 
he  said.  "  I  will  ring  for  her." 

She  rose  and  shook  out  her  skirts.  Her  eyes  fell 
upon  me. 

"  You  have  a  visitor,"  she  remarked.  "  I'm 
sorry  I  disturbed  you." 

She  looked  at  me  fixedly  as  I  moved  a  few  steps 
forward  out  of  the  deep  shadows  which  hung  about 
the  further  end  of  the  apartment.  Then  she  turned 
from  me  to  Mr.  Ravenor,  who  was  holding  open 
the  door  for  her.  He  met  her  gaze  steadily,  with 
a  calm,  inquiring  look  in  his  deep  eyes,  as  though 
wondering  why  she  lingered. 

"  Won't  you  introduce  your  visitor  ?  "  she  asked 
slowly. 

He  appeared  wishful  for  her  to  go,  yet  resigned. 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  "  if  you  wish  it. 
Cecilia,  let  me  present  to  you  Mr.  Philip  Morton, 
the  son  of  a  former  neighbour  of  mine.  You  may 
be  interested  to  hear  that  Mr.  Morton  is  about  to 
complete  his  education  with  Dr.  Randall.  Morton, 
this  is  my  sister,  Lady  Silchester." 

Lady  Silchester  held  up  a  pair  of  gold  eye-glasses 
and  looked  at  me  steadily.  I  was  not  used  to 
ladies,  but  Lady  Silchester' s  manner  did  not  please 
me,  and,  after  a  very  slight  bow,  I  drew  myself 
up  and  returned  her  gaze  without  flinching.  She 
turned  abruptly  away. 

"  Yes,  I  am  interested — a  little  surprised,"  she 
said,  in  a  peculiar  tone.  "  Let  me  congratulate 
you,  my  dear  brother,  on " 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you  would 
be  ready  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  Cecilia  ?  "  he 
interrupted  calmly.  "  Permit  me  to  order  your 


LADY  SILCHESTER.  69 

horses  to  be  put  up."  And  he  moved  across  the 
room  towards  the  bell  and  rang  it. 

She  hesitated,  bit  her  lip,  and  turned  towards 
the  door  without  another  word.  A  servant  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  summoned  by  the  bell. 

"  Let  Mrs.  Ross  attend  Lady  Silchester  at  once," 
Mr.  Ravenor  ordered.  "  Her  ladyship  will  take 
tea  in  her  room,  and  will  dine  with  me  in  the  library 
at  half-past  eight." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

The  door  was  closed  and  we  were  alone  again. 
Mr.  Ravenor  returned  to  his  letter,  with  his  lips 
slightly  parted  in  a  quiet  smile.  I  stood  still,  hot 
and  uncomfortable,  wondering  in  what  possible 
manner  I  could  have  offended  Lady  Silchester. 
The  meaning  of  the  little  scene  which  had  just 
taken  place  was  beyond  my  comprehension.  But  I 
kn^w  that  it  had  a  meaning,  and  that  I  was  some- 
how concerned  in  it. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  CRY  IN  THE  AVENUEJ 

THE  letter  which  Mr.  Ravenor  had  been  writing 
to  my  mother  was  finished  and  sealed  at  last.  Then 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  steadily  at 
me. 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again  before  you  go,  Philip 
Morton,"  he  said,  "  so  I  wish  to  impress  upon  you 
once  more  what  I  said  to  you  about  my  nephew, 
who  is  Lady  Silchester's  son,  by-the-bye.  I  know 
that  he  is  going  on  badly,  but  I  wish  to  know  how 
badly.  Unfortunately,  he  has  no  father,  and,  from 
what  I  can  remember  of  him,  I  should  imagine 
that  he  is  quite  easily  led,  and  would  be  very  amen- 
able to  the  influence  of  a  stronger  mind.  If  yours 
should  be  that  mind — and  I  do  not  see  why  it 
should  not — it  will  be  well  for  him.  That  de- 
lightfully Utopian  optimism  of  yours  is,  at  any 
rate,  healthy,"  he  added  dryly. 

I  felt  my  cheeks  burn  and  would  have  spoken, 
but  Mr.  Ravenor  checked  me. 

"  Let  there  be  no  misunderstanding  between  us," 
he  said.  "  I  desire  no  gratitude  from  you  and  I 
deserve  none.  What  I  am  doing  I  am  doing  for 
my  own  gratification — perhaps  for  my  own  ultimate 
advantage.  That  you  are  a  gainer  by  it  is  purely 
a  matter  of  chance.  The  whim  might  just  as  well 
have  been  the  other  way.  I  might  have  taken  a 

70 


THE  CRY  IN  THE  AVENUE.  71 

fancy  to  have  you  turned  out  of  the  place  and,  if 
so,  I  would  have  done  it.  On  the  whole,  it  is  I 
who  should  be  grateful  to  you  for  not  baulking  me  in 
my  scheme  and  for  letting  me  have  my  own  way. 
So  understand,  please,  after  this  explanation,  that 
I  shall  look  upon  any  expression  of  gratitude  from 
you  as  a  glaring  mark  of  imbecility,  apart  from 
which  it  will  annoy  me  exceedingly." 

I  listened  in  silence.  What  could  one  reply  to 
such  a  strange  way  of  putting  a  case  ?  Mr.  Ra- 
venor's  manner  forbade  any  doubt  as  to  his  serious- 
ness and  I  could  only  respect  his  wishes. 

"  As  you  won't  let  me  thank  you,  sir,  I  think 
I'd  better  go,"  I  said  bluntly.  "  I'm  sure  to  forget 
if  I  stay  here  much  longer." 

"  A  good  discipline  for  you  to  stay,  then,"  he 
answered. 

Again  the  tinkle  of  the  telephone  bell  rang  out 
from  the  corner  and  interrupted  his  speech.  Mr. 
Ravenor  motioned  me  towards  it. 

"  Go  and  hear  what  it  is  and  repeat  it  to  me," 
he  said. 

I  put  my  ear  to  the  tube  and  repeated  the  words 
as  they  came  : 

"  A  man  desires  to  see  you,  sir,  but  refuses  to 
give  his  name.  I  have  told  him  that  it  is  quite 
useless  my  communicating  with  you  without  it ; 
but  he  is  persistent  and  refuses  to  go  away.  He 
is  respectably  dressed,  but  rather  rough-looking." 

Mr.  Ravenor  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  took 
up  his  pen,  as  though  about  to  resume  his  writing. 

"  Tell  him  to  go  to  the  deuce  !  "  he  said  briefly. 

I  repeated  the  message  faithfully,  but  its 
recipient  was  evidently  not  satisfied.  In  less  than 
a  minute  the  bell  sounded  again. 

"  His  name  is  Richards,  sir — or,  rather,  he  says 
he  is  known  to  you  by  that  name — and  he  is  very 
emphatic  about  seeing  you — and,  begging  your 


72  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

pardon,   sir,   a  little  insolent.    He  says  that  his 
business  is  of  the  utmost  importance." 

I  repeated  the  message  and  stpod  as  though 
turned  to  stone.  Was  my  fancy  playing  tricks 
with  me  in  the  dimly-lit  room,  or  had  Mr.  Ravenor  s 
face  really  become  ghastly  and  livid,  like  the  face 
of  a  man  who  sees  the  phantom  shadows  of  a  hideous 
nightmare  passing  before  his  fixed  gaze  ?  I  closed 
my  eyes  for  a  moment's  relief  and  looked  again. 
Surely  it  had  been  fancy  !  Mr.  Ravenor  was  writing 
with  only  a  slight  frown  upon  his  calm,  serene  face. 

"  Let  Mr.  Richards— or  whatever  the  fellow's 
name  is — be  given  to  understand  that  I  distinctly 
refuse  to  see  him,"  he  said  quietly.  "  If  he  has 
any  business  with  me  he  can  write." 

I  repeated  this  and  then  took  up  my  cap  to  go. 
Mr.  Ravenor  put  down  his  pen  and  walked  with 
me  to  the  door.  I  had  expected  that  he  would 
have  offered  me  his  hand,  but  he  did  not.  He 
nodded,  kindly  enough  and  held  the  door  open 
while  I  passed  out.  So  I  went. 

As  I  walked  across  the  great  hall  on  my  way 
out  I  came  face  to  face  with  Lady  Silchester,  who 
was  thoughtfully  contemplating  one  of  a  long  line 
of  oil-paintings  dark  with  age,  yet  vivid  still  with 
the  marvellous  colouring  of  an  old  master.  To  my 
surprise  she  stopped  me. 

"  Are  you  a  judge  of  pictures,  Mr.  Morton  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  I  was  wondering  whether  that  was  a 
genuine  Reynolds."  And  she  pointed  to  the  picture 
which  she  had  been  examining. 

I  shook  my  head,  briefly  acknowledging  that  I 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  them.  I  was  quite 
conscious  at  the  time  that  the  question  was  only 
a  feint.  What  was  a  farmer's  son  likely  to  know 
of  the  old  masters  ? 

"  Ah,  never  mind ! "  she  remarked,  shutting  up 
her  eyeglasses  with  a  snap.  "  I  can  ask  Mr.  Ra- 


THE  CRY  IN  THE  AVENUE;  73 

venor  this  evening.  I  thought,  perhaps,  that  as 
you  were  here  so  often  he  might  have  talked  to 
you  about  them.  I  know  that  he  is  very  proud 
of  his  pictures." 

"  Had  I  been  here  often  he  might  have  done  so,'* 
I  answered.  "As  it  happens,  however,  this  is  my 
first  visit  to  Ravenor  Castle." 

"  Indeed  ?  And  yet  Mr.  Ravenor  seems  to  take 
a  great  interest  in  you.  Why  ?  " 

I  hesitated  and  wished  that  I  could  get  away  J 
but  Lady  Silchester  was  standing  immediately  hi 
front  of  me. 

"  Your  ladyship  will  pardon  me,"  I  said,  "  but 
might  not  your  question  be  better  addressed  to 
Mr.  Ravenor  ?  " 

She  bit  her  lip  and  moved  haughtily  to  one 
side.  I  made  a  movement  as  though  to  pass  her, 
but  she  turned  suddenly  and  prevented  me. 

"  Mr.  Morton,"  she  said,  a  little  nervously,  "  my 
brother  said  that  you  were  going  to  Dr.  Randall's, 
I  believe  ?  " 

I  admitted  that  such  was  the  fact. 

"  I  daresay  you  know  that  my  son  is  there," 
she  continued,  "  and  I  am  afraid  he's  not  behaving 
exactly  as  he  should.  Of  course,  we  don't  hear 
anything  definite  ;  but  Cecil  is  very  good-natured, 
easily  led  into  anything,  and  I  am  a  little  doubtful 
about  his  companions  there.  Now,  Mr.  Morton, 
you're  not  much  more  than  a  boy  yourself,  of 
course  ;  but  you  don't  look  as  though  you  would 
care  for  the  sort  of  thing  that  I'm  afraid  Cecil 
gets  led  into.  I  do  wish  that  you  and  he  could 
be  friends,  and  that — that " 

She  broke  off,  as  though  expecting  me  to  say 
something,  and  I  felt  a  little  awkward. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  think  so  well  of  me, 
when  you  don't  know  anything  about  me,"  I  said, 
twirling  my  cap  in  my  hands ;  "  but  you  forget 


74  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

that  I  am  only  a  farmer's  son,  and  perhaps  your 
son  would  not  care  to  be  friends  with  me." 

"  My  son,  whatever  his  faults  may  be,  has  all 
the  instincts  of  a  gentleman,"  Lady  Silchester 
answered  proudly  ;  "  and  if  he  liked  you  for  your- 
self, it  would  make  no  difference,  even  if  you  were 
a  tradesman's  son.  Promise  me  that,  if  you  have 
the  opportunity,  you  will  do  what  you  can  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I'll  promise  that,  with  pleasure  !  " 
I  assured  her. 

Lady  Silchester  smiled,  and  while  the  smile 
lasted  I  thought  that  I  had  never  seen  a  more 
beautiful  woman.  Then  she  held  out  a  delicate 
little  hand,  sparkling  with  rings,  and  placed  it  in 
mine,  which  in  those  days  was  as  brown  as  a  berry 
and  not  very  soft. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,  Mr.  Morton." 

She  looked  up  at  me  quite  kindly  for  a  moment. 
Then  suddenly  her  manner  completely  changed. 
She  withdrew  her  eyes  from  my  face,  with  a  slight 
flush  in  her  cheeks,  and  turned  abruptly  away. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Morton.  I  am  much  ob- 
liged to  you  for  your  promise,"  she  said,  in  a  colder 
tone. 

I  drew  myself  up,  unconscious  of  having  said 
or  done  anything  which  could  possibly  offend  her, 
and  feeling  boyishly  hurt  at  her  change  of  manner. 

"  Good  evening,  Lady  Silchester,"  I  answered, 
with  all  the  dignity  I  could  command.  Then  I 
turned  away  and  left  the  Castle. 

I  walked  down  the  broad  avenue  slowly,  casting 
many  glances  behind  me  at  the  vast,  gloomy  pile, 
around  which  the  late  evening  mists  were  rising 
from  the  damp  ground.  Many  lights  were  twinkling 
from  the  upper  windows  and  from  the  east 
wing,  where  the  servants'  quarters  were  situated, 
but  the  lower  part  of  the  building  lay  in 
a  deep  obscurity,  unilluminated,  save  by  one 


THE  CRY  IN  THE  AVENUE.  75 

faint  light  from  Mr.  Ravenor's  study.  There 
seemed  something  unnatural,  almost  ghostly,  about 
the  place,  which  chilled  while  it  fascinated  me. 

What  was  that  ?  I  stood  suddenly  still  in  the 
middle  of  the  drive  and  listened.  A  faint,  muffled 
cry,  which  seemed  to  me  at  first  to  be  a 
human  cry,  had  broken  the  deep  evening  still- 
ness. I  held  my  breath  and  remained  quite 
motionless,  with  strained  hearing.  There  was  no 
repetition  of  it,  no  other  sound.  I  was  puzzled  ; 
more  than  half  inclined  to  be  alarmed.  It  might 
have  been  the  crying  of  a  hare,  or  the  squealing 
of  a  rabbit  caught  by  a  stoat.  But  my  first  im- 
pression had  been  a  strong  one,  improbable  though 
it  seemed.  Poachers,  however  daring,  would 
scarcely  be  likely  to  invade  the  closely-guarded 
inner  grounds,  where  the  preserves  were  fewer 
and  the  risk  of  capture  far  greater  than  outside 
the  park.  Besides,  there  had  been  no  discharge 
of  firearms,  no  commotion,  no  loud  cries  ;  only 
that  one  muffled,  despairing  moan.  What  could  it 
mean  ? 

A  steep  ascent  lay  before  me.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation  I  hurried  forward  and  did  not  pause 
until  I  reached  the  summit  and  had  a  clear  view 
around  through  the  hazy  twilight. 


CHAPTER   XII 

A   DARK  CORNER   IN   THE  AVENUE. 

FAR  away  below  me — for  Ravenor  Castle  stood  on 
the  highest  point  in  the  country — a  dull-red  glow 
in  the  sky,  and  many  twinkling  lights  stretched 
far  and  wide,  marked  the  place  where  a  great  town 
lay.  On  my  right  hand  was  a  smooth  stretch  of 
green  turf,  dotted  all  over  with  thickly  growing 
spreading  oak  trees.  On  the  left  was  a  straggling 
plantation,  bounded  by  a  low  greystone  wall,  which 
sloped  down  gradually  to  one  of  the  bracken- 
covered,  disused  slate-quarries,  with  which  the 
neighbourhood  abounded. 

Breathless,  I  stood  still  and  looked  searchingly 
around.  Save  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  the  fast 
falling  night  had  blotted  out  the  view,  reducing 
fields,  woods,  and  rocks  to  one  blurred  chaotic 
mass.  But  where  my  eye  could  pierce  the  darkness 
I  could  see  no  sign  of  any  moving  object.  By 
degrees  my  apprehension  grew  less  strong.  The 
cry,  if  it  had  not  been  wholly  a  trick  of  the 
imagination,  must  have  been  the  cry  of  some 
animal.  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  moved 
forward  again. 

Immediately  in  front  of  me  the  avenue  curved 
through  a  small  plantation  of  fir  trees,  which, 
growing  thick  and  black  on  either  side,  made  it 
appear  almost  as  though  I  were  confronted  with 

76 


A  DARK  CORNER  IN  THE  AVENUE.  77 

a  tunnel ;  around  its  mouth  the  darkness  was  in- 
tense, but  my  eyesight,  always  good,  had  by  this 
time  become  quite  accustomed  to  the  uncertain 
light,  and  just  as  I  was  entering  it  I  fancied  that 
I  could  see  something  moving  only  a  few  yards  in 
front  of  me.  I  stopped  short  at  once  and  waited, 
peering  forwards  into  the  gloom  with  straining 
eyes  and  beating  heart.  My  suspense,  though 
keen,  was  not  of  long  duration,  for  almost  imme- 
diately the  dark  shape  resolved  itself  into  the  figure 
of  a  man  moving  swiftly  towards  me. 

My  first  impulse  was,  I  am  afraid,  to  turn  and 
run  for  it,  my  next  to  give  the  advancing  figure 
as  wide  a  berth  as  possible.  With  that  idea  I 
stepped  swiftly  on  one  side  and  leaned  right  back 
against  the  ring  fence  which  bordered  the  drive. 
But  I  was  too  late,  or  too  clumsy  in  my  move- 
ments, to  escape  notice.  With  a  quick,  startled 
exclamation,  the  man  whom  I  had  nearly  run  into 
stopped  and,  just  at  that  moment  the  moon, 
which  had  been  struggling  up  jrom  behind  a 
thick  mass  of  angry  clouds,  shone  feebly  out  and 
showed  me  the  white,  scared  face  of  Mr.  Ravenor's 
secretary. 

"  Good  heavens  !  " 

It  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  ejaculation  was 
hurled  out  from  those  trembling  lips.  Then,  with 
a  sudden  start,  he  recovered  himself,  and  so  changed 
was  his  manner  that  I  could  almost  have  fancied 
that  his  first  emotion  of  terror  had  been  imagination 
on  my  part. 

"  Am  I  so  formidable  that  you  should  leap  out 
af  my  way  as  though  you  had  seen  a  ghost  ?  "  he 
said,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Come,  come  ;  a  young 
man  of  your  size  should  have  more  pluck  than 
that." 

I  felt  rather  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I  answered 
him  as  carelessly  as  possible. 


78  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  any  more  startled  than 
you  were.  We  came  upon  one  another  suddenly, 
and  it's  a  very  dark  night." 

"  Dark  !  Dark  is  not  the  word.  This  part  of 
the  drive  is  a  veritable  Hades/' 

"  By-the-bye,  Mr.  Marx,"  I  remarked,  "  I  fancied 
that  I  heard  a  cry  a  few  min " 

"  A  cry  !  What  sort  of  a  cry  ?  "  he  interrupted 
sharply,  in  an  altered  tone. 

"  Well,  it  sounded  to  me  very  much  like  the 
moan  of  a  man  in  pain,"  I  explained,  looking  half 
fearfully  around.  "  Of  course,  it  might  have  been 
a  hare,  but  it  was  wonderfully  like  a  human  voice. 
Listen !  Can't  you  hear  something  .now  ?  "  I 
cried,  laying  my  hand  upon  his  arm. 

We  stood  close  together  in  silence,  listening  in- 
tently. A  faint  wind  had  sprung  up,  and  was 
sighing  mournfully  through  the  trees,  which 
were  soaked  and  weighed  down  by  the  heavy 
rain.  Drip,  drip,  drip.  At  every  sigh  of  the  breeze 
a  little  shower  of  rain-drops  fell  pattering  on  to 
the  soddened  leaves  and  the  melancholy  music  was 
resumed. 

It  was  altogether  very  depressing  and  I  was 
palpably  shivering. 

"  I  can  hear  nothing,"  he  said,  with  chattering 
teeth.  "  It  must  have  been  your  fancy,  or  a  hare 
squealing,  perhaps." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  admitted,  glad  enough  to  be 
forced  into  this  conclusion. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  anything  about  it  at  the  lodge," 
he  remarked,  preparing  to  depart.  "  Anderson  is 
as  nervous  as  a  cat  already." 

"  All  right,  I  won't.     Good  night." 

;<  You're  not  frightened,  are  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  If  you  like,  I'll  walk  down  to  the  lodge  with 
you." 

"  Not  in  the  least,  thanks,"  I  answered,  a  little 


A  DARK  CORNER  IN  THE  AVENUE.  79 

indignantly.  '*  I  thought  that  noise  was  queer, 
that's  all.  Good  night." 

I  walked  swiftly  away,  listening  all  the  time, 
but  hearing  no  unusual  sound.  In  a  few  minutes 
I  reached  the  gates  and  found  Anderson  waiting 
about  outside.  He  let  me  through  at  once. 

"  May  I  go  in  here  for  a  minute  ?  "  I  asked, 
pointing  to  the  room  in  which  I  had  been  kept 
waiting  on  my  way  up  to  the  Castle.  "  I  have  a 
message  to  give  you  from  Mr.  Ravenor." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  he  answered,  opening  the  door. 

I  stepped  inside,  half  expecting  to  see  the  man 
whom  Mr.  Ravenor  had  refused  to  receive  ;  but  it 
was  quite  empty. 

"  So  Mr.  Richards  has  decided  not  to  wait,  after 
all  ?  "  I  remarked,  looking  round.  "  He  was  wise. 
I'm  sure  Mr.  Ravenor  wouldn't  have  seen  him." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  man  answered  ;  "  he  slipped  out 
without  leaving  any  message  or  anything,  while 
I  had  gone  across  the  way  for  some  coal.  I  was 
a  bit  taken  aback  when  I  returned  and  found  the 
place  empty,  for  he'd  been  swearing  ever  so  a 
minute  or  two  before  that  he'd  see  Mr.  Ravenor, 
or  stop  here  for  ever." 

"  He  can't  have  gone  on  up  to  the  Castle,  can 
he  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  around. 

The  man  shook  his  head  confidently. 

"  Impossible,  sir  !  The  gates  were  locked  and 
the  keys  in  my  pocket,  and  there  are  no  windows 
to  this  room,  you  see,  on  the  Castle  side." 

"  But  there  is  a  door,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the 
upper  end  of  the  apartment. 

"  Go  and  look  at  it,  sir,"  Anderson  answered, 
smiling. 

I  did  so  and  examined  it  closely.  There  were 
no  bolts,  but  it  was  fastened  with  a  particularly 
strong  patent  lock. 

"  Who  keeps  the  key  ?  "  I  inquired. 


8o  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET; 

"  Mr.  Ravenor,  sir.  I  haven't  got  one  at  all. 
You  were  saying  something  about  a  message  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Ravenor  was  annoyed  with  you  for 
letting  Lady  Silchester  through,  but  he  has  de- 
cided to  overlook  it  this  time.  You  need  not  go 
up  to  the  Castle  for  your  money." 

The  man  was  evidently  pleased. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir," 
he  said  warmly.  "  That's  good  news  and  no  mis- 
take. It  isn't  a  place  that  one  would  care  to  lose." 

"  Well,  good  night,  Anderson.  Oh,  I  say,"  I 
added,  turning  back  on  a  sudden  impulse,  "  how 
long  is  it  since  Mr.  Marx  was  here  ?  " 

Anderson  looked  puzzled. 

"  Mr.  Marx,  sir  !  Why,  I  haven't  seen  him  all 
day  !  " 

;<  What !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  all  day.  He  hasn't  been 
here,"  the  man  repeated. 

I  stood  still,  breathless,  full  of  swiftly  rising  but 
vague  suspicions. 

"  Not  seen  him  to-day !  Why,  I  met  him  in 
the  avenue  just  now,"  I  declared. 

"  I  daresay,  sir,"  the  man  remarked  quietly. 
"  He  often  walks  down  this  way.  In  fact,  he  does 
most  evenings  before  dinner.  Queer  sort  he  is,  and 
no  mistake." 

The  man's  words  changed  the  current  of  my 
thoughts,  and  my  half-conceived  suspicions  faded 
away  almost  before  they  had  gathered  shape.  1 
made  some  trifling  remark  and  started  he  me  wards. 


CHAPTER   XIII, 

THE  CLOUD  BETWEEN  U& 

IT  was  late  when  I  reached  home  and,  from  tha 
darkness  in  all  the  windows,  I  concluded  that  my 
mother  and  the  one  country  domestic  who  com- 
prised our  little  household  had  already  retired. 
My  hand  was  raised  to  rap  at  the  closed  door, 
when  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  just  as  well 
effect  an  entrance  without  disturbing  anyone.  Oir 
sitting-room  window  opened  on  to  the  front  garden 
in  which  I  stood  and  was  seldom  fastened,  so  I 
stole  softly  over  the  sodden  grass  and  pressed  the 
sash  upwards.  It  yielded  easily  to  my  touch  ai»d, 
gently  raising  myself  on  to  the  low  stone  window- 
sill,  I  vaulted  into  the  room. 

At  first  I  thought  it  was,  as  I  had  expected  *o 
find  it,  empty.  But  it  was  not  so.  Through  the 
open  window  by  which  I  had  just  entered  the 
moonlight  was  streaming  in,  casting  long,  fantastic 
rays  upon  the  well-worn  carpet  and  across  the 
quaint,  old-fashioned  furniture  and  on  the  white 
tablecloth,  on  which  my  homely  evening  meal  had 
been  left  prepared.  But  my  eyes  never  rested  for 
a  moment  on  any  of  these  familiar  objects,  scarcely 
even  noticed  them,  for  another  and  a  stranger  sight 
held  me  spellbound.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  room, 
where  the  shadows  hung  darkest  and  the  moon- 

81  7 


82  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

beams  but  feebly  penetrated,  was  the  kneeling 
figure  of  a  woman. 

Her  perfectly  black  dress  threw  the  ghastly  hue 
of  her  strained,  wild  face  into  startling  prominence, 
and  her  slender  arms  were  stretched  passionately 
upwards  in  a  gesture  full  of  intense  dramatic  pathos. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  small  ebony  crucifix 
which  hung  against  the  wall,  and  the  words  were 
bursting  from  her  white,  trembling  lips,  but  whether 
of  prayer  or  confession,  I  could  not,  or,  rather, 
would  not,  hear,  for  I  closed  my  eyes  and  the 
sound  of  her  voice  reached  me  only  in  an  indistinct 
moan.  It  was  a  sight  which  has  lived  in  my  memory 
and  will  never  fade. 

Since  that  awful  night  in  Rothland  Wood,  my 
mother's  behaviour  towards  me  had  been  a  source 
of  constant  and  painful  wonder.  She  had  become 
an  enigma,  and  an  enigma  which  I  somehow  felt 
that  it  would  be  well  for  me  not  to  attempt  to 
solve. 

But  even  at  the  times  when  my  loveless  sur- 
roundings and  her  coldness  had  plunged  me  into 
the  lowest  depths  of  depression,  it  had  never  been 
an  altogether  hopeless  state,  for  somehow  I  had 
always  felt  that  her  coldness  was  not  the  coldness 
of  indifference,  but  rather  an  effort  of  will,  and 
that  a  time  would  come  when  she  would  cast  it 
off  and  be  to  me  again  the  mother  of  my  earlier 
recollections.  But  the  change  was  long  in  coming. 

She  was  a  devout  Roman  Catholic — a  religion  in 
which  I  had  not  been  brought  up — and  in  all 
weathers  and  at  all  times  of  the  year,  she  paid 
long  and  frequent  visits  to  the  monastery  chapel 
over  the  hills.  But  to  see  her  as  she  was  now  was 
a  revelation  to  me.  I  had  seen  her  pray  before, 
but  never  like  this.  She  had  always  seemed  to  me 
more  of  a  martyr  than  a  sinner  and  her  prayers 
more  the  prayers  of  reverent  devotion  than  of 


THE  CLOUD  BETWEEN  US  83 

passionate  supplication.  But  her  attitude  at  this 
moment,  her  wild,  haggard  face,  and  imploring 
eyes,  were  full  of  revelation  to  me.  Another  pos- 
sible explanation  of  her  lonely,  joyless  life  and 
deep  religious  devotion  flashed  in  upon  me.  Might 
it  not  be  the  dreary  expiation,  the  hard  penance 
of  her  church  meted  out  for  sin  ? 

Half  fearing  to  disturb  her,  I  remained  for  a 
brief  while  silent,  but,  as  the  minutes  went  on, 
the  sight  of  her  agony  was  too  much  for  me  and 
I  cried  out  to  her : 

"  Mother,  I  am  here.  I  did  not  know  that  you 
were  up  !  I  came  in  through  the  window  !  " 

At  the  first  sound  of  my  appealing  tones  her 
face  changed,  as  though  frozen  suddenly  from 
passionate  expressiveness  to  cold  marble.  Slowly 
she  rose  to  her  feet  and  confronted  me. 

"  Mother,  are  you  in  trouble  ?  "  I  said  softly, 
moving  nearer  to  her ;  "  cannot  I  share  your 
sorrow  ?  Cannot  I  comfort  you  ?  Why  am  I 
shut  out  of  your  life  so  ?  Tell  me  this  great  trouble 
of  yours  and  let  me  share  it." 

For  many  years  I  had  longed  to  say  these 
words  to  her,  but  the  cold  impressiveness  of 
her  manner  had  checked  them  often  upon  my 
lips  and  thrust  them  back  to  my  aching  heart. 
Now,  when  a  great  sorrow  filled  her  face  with 
a  softer  light  and  loosened  for  a  moment  its 
hard,  rigid  lines,  I  dared  to  yield  to  the  impulse 
which  I  had  so  often  felt — and,  alas !  in  vain — 
in  vain  ! 

Keener  agony,  deeper  disappointment,  I  have 
never  felt.  Coldness  and  indifference  had  been 
hard  to  bear,  but  what  came  now  was  worse.  She 
shrank  back  from  me  —  shrank  back,  with  her 
hands  outstretched  towards  me  and  her  head 
averted. 

"  Philip,  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  here. 


t 
84  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

I  cannot  talk  to  you  now.    Go  to  your  room.    To- 
morrow— to-morrow  !  " 

Her  voice  died  away,  but  her  sudden  weakness 
inspired  me  with  no  hope,  for  it  was  a  physical 
weakness  only.  There  were  no  signs  of  softening 
in  her  face,  no  answering  tenderness  in  her  tones. 
So  what  could  I  do  but  go  ? 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

A   MEETING   IN   THE   COFFEE-ROOM. 

IT  was  eleven  o'clock  on  the  following  morning. 
I  had  been  reading  in  the  garden  for  some  time, 
and  was  just  thinking  of  starting  for  a  walk,  when 
a  dogcart  from  the  Castle  stopped  at  the  gate, 
and  Mr.  Ravenor's  servant — the  man  who  had 
conducted  me  from  the  lodge  to  the  Castle — was 
shown  into  the  house.  I  went  to  him  at  once 
and  he  handed  me  a  note. 

"  Mr.  Ravenor  has  sent  you  this,  sir,"  he  said 
respectfully. 

I  tore  it  open  and  read  (there  was  no  orthodox 
commencement) : 

"  Before  going  to  Dr.  Randall's  there  are  a  few 
things  which  you  are  not  likely  to  have  which 
you  will  find  necessary.  Remember  that  it  is 
part  of  the  education  which  I  intend  for  you 
that  you  should  associate  with  the  other  pupils 
on  equal  terms.  Therefore,  be  so  good  as  to  go 
into  Torchester  with  Reynolds  and  place  yourself 
entirely  in  his  hands.  He  has  my  full  instructions. 
— R." 

I  folded  the  note  up  and  put  it  into  my 
pocket. 

"  Am  I  to  come  with  you  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  If  you  please,  sir." 

I  went  upstairs  to  get  ready  and  in  a  few  minutes 

8f 


86  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

was  prepared  to  start.  The  groom  offered  me  the 
reins,  but  I  declined  them  and  mounted  instead 
to  the  vacant  seat  by  his  side,  which  Reynolds 
had  silently  relinquished  to  me. 

Torchester  was  scarcely  a  dozen  miles  from  the 
farm,  but,  nevertheless,  this  was  my  first  visit  to 
it.  Many  a  time  I  had  looked  down  from  Beacon 
Hill  upon  the  wide-spreading,  dirty-coloured  cloud 
of  smoke  from  its  tall  factory  chimneys,  which 
seemed  like  a  marring  blot  upon  the  fair,  peaceful 
stretch  of  country  around,  and  by  night  at  the 
dull  red  glow  in  the  sky  and  the  myriads  of  twinkling 
lights  which  showed  me  where  it  stood.  But  neither 
by  day  nor  night  had  the  scene  been  an  attractive 
one  for  me.  I  had  felt  no  curiosity  to  enter  it. 
I  had  never  even  cared  to  figure  to  myself  what  it 
would  be  like. 

So  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  found 
myself  driving  through  the  streets  of  a  large  manu- 
facturing town.  It  was  the  dinner-hour  and  on 
all  sides  the  factories  were  disgorging  streams  of 
unhealthy-looking  men  and  women  and  even 
children.  The  tramcars  and  omnibuses  were 
crowded,  the  busy  streets  were  lined  with  swiftly 
rolling  carriages,  smart-looking  men,  and  gaily- 
dressed  girls  and  women.  Within  a  few  yards  I 
saw  types  of  men  and  women  so  different  that  it 
seemed  impossible  that  they  could  be  of  the  same 
species. 

"  This  is  the  '  Bell,'  sir,  where  we  generally  put 
up,"  remarked  Reynolds,  at  my  elbow.  "  You 
will  have  some  lunch,  sir,  before  we  go  into  the 
town  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  but  he  was  quietly  though 
respectfully  insistent.  So  I  let  him  have  his  way 
and  allowed  myself  to  be  piloted  into  a  long,  dark 
coffee-room,  where  my  orders,  considerably  aug- 
mented by  Reynolds  in  transit,  were  received  by 


A  MEETING  IN  THE  COFFEE-ROOM.     87 

a  waiter  whom  we  discovered  fast  asleep  in  an 
easy-chair,  and  who  seemed  very  much  surprised 
to  see  us. 

Afterwards  we  went  out  in  the  town,  Reynolds 
and  I,  and  began  our  shopping.  I  was"measured 
at  the  principal  tailor's  for  more  clothes  than 
it  seemed  possible  for  me  to  wear  out  in  a 
lifetime,  from  riding-breeches  to  a  dress-coat ;  and 
the  quantity  and  variety  of  hats,  boots,  shirts,  and 
ties  which  Reynolds  put  down  as  indispensable 
filled  me  with  half-amused  astonishment,  al- 
though I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  be  surprised 
at  nothing.  But  our  shopping  was  not  finished 
even  when  Reynolds,  to  my  inexpressible  relief, 
declared  my  wardrobe  to  be  as  complete  as  could 
be  furnished  by  a  provincial  town.  The  gun- 
smith's, the  sporting  emporium,  and  the  horse- 
repository  were  all  visited  in  turn.  And  when  we 
returned  to  the  hotel  about  six  o'clock  I  was  the 
possessor  of  two  guns,  which  were  a  perfect  re- 
velation to  me,  a  cricket-bat,  a  tennis  racquet,  a 
small  gymnasium,  a  set  of  foils,  and,  besides  other 
things,  a  stylish,  well-built  dogcart  and  a  sound, 
useful  cob. 

I  sank  into  an  easy-chair  in  the  coffee-room 
and,  refusing  to  listen  to  Reynold's  suggestion  as 
to  the  propriety  of  dining  before  setting  out  home- 
wards, ordered  a  cup  of  tea.  While  the  waiter 
had  left  the  room  to  fetch  it  I  strolled  to  the 
window  to  look  out  at  the  weather,  which  had 
been  threatening  for  some  time  and  on  my  way 
I  discovered  that  I  was  not  alone  in  the  apart- 
ment. A  man  was  seated  at  one  of  the  further- 
most tables,  dining,  and  as  I  passed  he  looked 
up  and  surveyed  me  with  a  cool,  critical  stare, 
which  changed  suddenly  into  a  pleasant  smile  of 
recognition. 

"  Mr.  Morton,  isn't  it  ? "  he  said,  holding  out 


88  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

his  hand.     "  Mr.  Ravenor  told  me  that  I  should 
probably  come  across  you." 

I  was  so  surprised  that  for  a  moment  I  forgot 
to  accept  the  offered  hand.  Mr.  Ravenor's  secre- 
tary was  the  last  person  whom  I  should  have  ex- 
pected to  find  eating  a  solitary  dinner  in  a  Tor- 
chester  hotel. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A  TETE-A-Tf  TE   DINNER. 

"  WHAT  have  you  been  up  to  in  Torchester,  eh  ? 
Shopping  ?  "  Mr.  Marx  inquired.  I  saw  no  reason 
for  concealing  anything  from  him,  nor  did  I  do 
so.  Rather  awkwardly  I  told  him  of  Mr.  Ravenor's 
note  to  me,  and  that  I  had  been  with  Reynolds 
all  the  afternoon.  Perhaps  I  spoke  with  a  little 
enthusiasm  of  our  somewhat  elaborate  purchases. 
At  any  rate,  when  I  had  finished,  he  laughed  softly 
to  himself — a  long,  noiseless,  but  not  unpleasant 
laugh. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  I  met  you,"  he  said,  his  lips 
still  twitching,  as  though  with  amusement.  "  Sit 
down  and  have  some  dinner  with  me." 

I  hesitated,  for  just  at  that  moment  Mr.  Ra- 
venor's words  concerning  his  secretary  flashed  into 
my  mind.  Besides,  I  was  not  at  all  sure  that  I 
liked  him.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  what  alter- 
native was  there  for  me  ?  What  excuse  could  I 
hnd  for  declining  so  simple  an  invitation  ?  In  a 
few  minutes  the  waiter  would  appear  with  the 
modest  meal  which  I  had  ordered,  and  it  would 
be  impossible  for  me  to  order  him  to  set  it  down 
in  another  part  of  the  room,  or  to  leave  it  and 
walk  out  of  the  hotel,  just  because  this  man  was 
there.  To  do  so  would  be  to  tell  him  as  plainly 
is  possible  that  I  had  some  particular  desire  for 

«9 


90  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

avoiding  him,  and  he  would  instantly  divine  that 
I  was  obeying  a  behest  of  Mr.  Ravenor's.  No  ;  it 
was  unavoidable.  I  had  better  accept  his  invita- 
tion, and,  briefly,  I  did  so. 

"That's  right,*'  he  said  pleasantly.  "It's  a 
queer  fancy  of  mine,  but  I  hate  dining  alone. 
Waiter,  bring  some  more  soup  at  once.  This 
gentleman  will  dine  with  me." 

During  dinner  our  conversation  was  interrupted. 
Hat  in  hand,  Reynolds  was  standing  before  us, 
looking  at  Mr.  Marx  and  then  at  me  and  the  table 
before  us  with  a  look  on  his  face  which  I  did  not 
altogether  understand,  although  it  annoyed  me 
excessively.  He  spoke  to  me  : 

"  The  dogcart  has  come  round,  sir." 

I  half  rose  and  threw  down  my  napkin,  though 
with  some  reluctance.  I  held  out  my  hand  re- 
gretfully to  Mr.  Marx,  but  he  refused  to  take  it. 

"  You  needn't  go  home  with  Reynolds  unless 
you  like,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  brougham  from 
the  Castle  here,  and  I  can  drop  you  at  the  farm 
on  my  way  home." 

I  hesitated,  for  the  temptation  to  stay  was  strong. 
In  fact,  I  should  have  accepted  at  once,  only  that 
Reynolds's  grave,  frowning  face  somehow  reminded 
me  of  Mr.  Ravenor's  injunction.  Reynolds,  like  a 
fool,  settled  the  matter. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Morton  had  better  return  with 
me,  sir,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Marx.  "  If  you  are  ready, 
sir,"  he  added  to  me.  "  The  mare  gets  very  fidgety 
if  she's  kept  waiting." 

My  boyish  vanity  was  wounded  to  the  quick 
by  the  style  of  his  address,  and  his  unwise  as- 
sumption of  authority,  and  I  answered  quickly  : 

"  You'd  better  be  off  at  once,  then,  Reynolds. 
I  shall  accept  Mr.  Marx's  offer." 

He  was  evidently  uneasy  and  made  one  more 
effort. 


A  TETE-A-TETE  DINNER.  91 

"  I  think  Mr.  Ravenor  would  prefer  your  returning 
with  me,  sir,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Marx  had  been  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
sipping  his  coffee  somewhat  absently,  and  to  all 
appearance  altogether  indifferent  as  to  which  way 
I  should  decide.  He  looked  up  now,  however,  and 
addressed  Reynolds  for  the  first  time. 

"  How  the  deuce  do  you  know  anything  about 
what  your  master  would  prefer  ?  "  he  said  coolly. 

Reynolds  made  no  answer,  but  looked  appealingly 
at  me.  I  chose  not  to  see  him. 

"  I  should  imagine,"  Mr.  Marx  continued,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  again  and  deliberately  stirring 
his  coffee,  "  that  if  Mr.  Ravenor  has  any  choice 
about  the  matter  at  all,  which  seems  to  me  very 
unlikely,  he  would  prefer  Mr.  Morton's  riding  home 
in  safety  with  a  dry  skin.  Listen  !  " 

We  did  so,  and  at  that  moment  a  fierce  gust  of 
wind  drove  a  very  deluge  of  rain  against  the  shaking 
window-panes. 

"  That  decides  it !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I'll  accept 
your  offer,  Mr.  Marx,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"  By  far  the  more  sensible  thing  to  do,"  he  re- 
marked carelessly.  "  Have  a  glass  of  wine,  Rey- 
nolds, before  you  start.  You've  a  wet  drive  before 
you." 

Reynolds  shook  his  head,  and,  wishing  me  a 
respectful  good  evening,  withdrew. 

Mr.  Marx  watched  Reynolds  leave  the  room 
and  then  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly. 

"  Honest,  but  stupid.  Well,  now  you're  in  my 
charge,  Morton,  I  must  see  whether  I  can't  amuse 
you  somehow.  Ever  been  to  the  theatre  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  a  slight  blush  as  I  admitted  that 
I  had  never  even  seen  the  outside  of  one. 

Mr.  Marx  looked  at  me  after  my  admission  as 
though  I  were  some  sort  of  natural  curiosity. 

"  Well,  we'll  go  if  you  like,"  he  said.    "  There's 


92  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

a  very  good  one  here,  I  believe,  for  the  provinces, 
and  it  will  be  a  change  for  you." 

"  It  will  make  us  very  late,  won't  it  ?  "  I  ven- 
tured to  say. 

"  Not  necessarily.  I  suppose  it  will  be  over 
about  half-past  ten  and  the  carriage  can  meet  us 
at  the  door." 

I  said  no  more,  for  fear  that  he  would  take  me 
at  my  word  and  give  up  the  idea  of  going.  In  a 
few  minutes  Mr.  Marx  called  for  his  bill  and  settled 
it,  and,  glancing  at  his  watch,  declared  that  it 
was  time  to  be  off.  The  waiter  called  a  hansom, 
and  we  drove  through  the  busy  streets,  Mr.  Marx 
leisurely  smoking  a  fragrant  cigarette,  and  I  leaning 
forward,  watching  the  hurrying  throngs  of  people, 
some  pleasure-seekers,  but  mostly  just  released 
from  their  daily  toil  at  the  factory  or  workshop. 

It  was  a  wet  night  and  the  streets  seemed  like 
a  perfect  sea  of  umbrellas.  The  rain  was  coming 
down  in  sheets,  beating  against  the  closed  glass 
front  of  our  cab  and  dimming  its  surface,  until 
it  became  impossible  to  see  farther  than  the  horse's 
head.  I  leaned  back  by  Mr.  Marx's  side  with  a 
sigh,  and  found  that  tie  had  been  watching  me 
with  an  amused  smile. 

"  Busy  little  place,  Torchester,"  he  remarked. 

"  It  seems  so  to  me,"  I  acknowledged.  "  I 
have  never  been  in  any  other  town  except  Mell- 
borough." 

"  Lucky  boy  !  "  he  exclaimed,  half  lightly,  half 
in  earnest.  "  You  have  all  the  pleasures  of  life 
before  you,  with  the  sauce  of  novelty  to  help  you 
to  relish  them.  What  would  I  not  give  never  to 
have  seen  Paris  or  Vienna,  or  never  to  have  been 
in  love,  or  tasted  quails  on  toast  i  But  here  we  are 
at  the  theatre  I  " 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

MISS   MABEL   FAY. 

THE  cab  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  underneath  a  long 
row  of  brightly  burning  lights.  We  dismounted, 
and  I  followed  Mr.  Marx  up  a  broad  flight  of  thickly 
carpeted  stairs  into  a  semi-circular  corridor  draped 
with  crimson  hangings  and  dimly  lit  with  rose- 
coloured  lights.  A  faint  perfume  hung  about  the 
place,  and  from  below  came  the  soft  melody  of  a 
rhythmical  German  waltz  which  the  orchestra  was 
playing.  I  almost  held  my  breath,  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  expectation  and  excitement,  as  I 
followed  Mr.  Marx  and  an  attendant  down  the 
corridor. 

The  latter  threw  open  the  door  of  what  appeared 
to  be  a  little  room  and  we  entered.  Mr.  Marx  at 
once  moved  to  the  front,  and,  throwing  the  curtains 
back,  beckoned  me  to  his  side.  I  obeyed  him  and 
looked  around  in  wonder. 

It  happened  to  be  a  fashionable  night  and  the 
place  was  crammed.  On  the  level  with  us — we 
were  in  a  box — were  rows  of  men  and  women 
in  evening  attire  ;  above,  a  somewhat  disorderly 
mob  in  the  gallery  ;  and  below,  a  dense  throng — 
at  least,  it  seemed  so  to  me — of  seated  people 
were  betraying  their  impatience  for  the  perform- 
ance by  a  continual  stamping  of  feet  and  other 
rumbling  noises. 

93 


94  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

To  a  regular  playgoer  it  was  a  very  ordinary 
sight  indeed  ;  to  me  it  was  a  revelation.  I  stood 
at  the  front  of  the  box,  looking  round,  until  Mr. 
Marx,  smiling,  pushed  a  chair  up  to  me  and  bade 
me  sit  down.  Then  I  turned  towards  the  stage 
and  remained  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  curtain, 
longing  impatiently  for  it  to  rise. 

Alas  for  my  expectations !  When  at  last  the 
time  came  it  was  a  charming  picture  indeed  upon 
which  I  looked,  but  how  different  !  A  group  of 
girls  in  short  skirts  and  picturesque  peasant  attire 
moving  lightly  about  the  stage  and  singing ;  a 
man  in  uniform  making  passionate  love  to  one  of 
them,  who  was  coyly  motioning  him  away  with 
her  hand  and  bidding  him  stay  with  her  eyes.  A 
pretty  picture  it  all  made  and  a  dazzling  one.  But 
what  did  it  all  mean  ? 

Mr.  Marx  had  been  watching  my  face,  and 
leaned  over  towards  me  with  a  question  upon  his 
lips. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  I  whispered.  "  This 
isn't  a  play,  is  it  ?  I  don't  remember  one  like 
it." 

"  A  play  ?     No  ;  it's  a  comic  opera,"  he  answered. 

I  turned  away  and  watched  the  performance 
again.  I  suppose  I  looked  a  little  disappointed  ; 
but  by  degrees  my  disappointment  died  away. 
It  was  all  so  fresh  to  me. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  first  act,  in  connection 
with  one  of  the  incidents,  several  fresh  characters 
— amongst  them  the  girl  who  was  taking  the  prin- 
cipal part — appeared  on  the  stage.  There  was  a 
little  round  of  applause  and  I  was  on  the  point 
of  turning  to  make  some  remark  to  Mr.  Marx, 
when  I  heard  a  sharp,  half -suppressed  exclamation 
escape  from  his  lips  and  felt  his  hot  breath  upon 
my  cheek. 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.     He  had  risen  from 


MISS  MABEL  FAYj  95 

his  chair  and  was  standing  close  to  my  elbow, 
leaning  over  me,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  centre 
of  the  stage  and  an  incredulous  look  on  his  pale 
face.  Instinctively  I  followed  the  direction  of  his 
rapt  gaze.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  bent  upon 
the  girl  who  had  last  appeared,  and  who,  with  the 
skirts  of  her  dark-green  riding-habit  gathered  up 
in  her  hand,  was  preparing  to  sing. 

He  recovered  from  his  surprise,  or  whatever 
emotion  it  was,  very  quickly,  and  broke  into  a 
short  laugh.  But  I  noticed  that  he  pushed  his 
chair  farther  back  into  the  box  and  drew  the 
curtains  a  little  more  forward. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Mr.  Marx  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and   frowned  a  little. 

"  Nothing  at  all.  I  fancied  that  I  recognised 
a  face  upon  the  stage,  but  I  was  mistaken.  Good- 
looking  girl,  isn't  she — the  one  singing,  I  mean  ?  " 

I  thought  that  good-looking  was  a  very  feeble 
mode  of  expression,  and  I  said  so  emphatically. 
In  fact,  I  thought  her  the  most  beautiful  and  most 
graceful  creature  I  had  ever  seen  ;  and,  as  the 
evening  wore  on,  I  found  myself  applauding  her 
songs  so  vigorously  that  she  glanced,  smiling, 
into  our  box,  and  Mr.  Marx,  who  was  still  sitting 
behind  the  curtain,  looked  at  me  with  an  amused 
twitching  of  the  lips. 

"  Morton,  Morton,  this  won't  do ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, laughing.  "  You'll  be  falling  head  over 
ears  in  love  with  that  young  woman  presently." 

I  became  in  a  moment  very  red  and  uncom- 
fortable, for  she  had  just  cast  a  smiling  glance  up 
at  us  and  Mr.  Marx  had  intercepted  it.  I  was 
both  ashamed  and  angry  with  myself  for  having 
applauded  so  loudly  as  to  have  become  notice- 
able ;  but  Mr.  Marx  seemed  to  think  nothing 
of  it. 

"  There  is  a  better  way  of  showing  your  appre- 


96  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

elation  of  that  young  lady's  talents — Miss  Mabel 
Fay,  I  see  her  name  is — than  by  applause.  See 
these  flowers  ?  " 

I  turned  round  and  saw  a  large  bouquet  of  white 
azaleas  and  roses,  which  the  attendant  must  have 
brought  in. 

"  You  can  give  them  to  her  if  you  like,"  Mr. 
Marx  suggested. 

I  shook  my  head  immediately,  fully  determined 
that  I  would  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  But  Mr. 
Marx  was  equally  determined  that  I  should.  It 
was  quite  the  correct  thing,  he  assured  me  ;  he 
had  sent  for  them  on  purpose  and  I  had  only  to 
stand  up  and  throw  them  to  her.  While  he  talked 
he  was  writing  on  a  plain  card,  which  he  pinned 
to  the  flowers  and  then  thrust  them  into  my  hand. 

How  it  happened  I  don't  quite  know,  but  Mr. 
Marx  had  his  own  way.  It  was  the  close  of  the 
act  and  everyone  was  applauding  Mabel  Fay's 
song.  She  stood  facing  the  house,  bowing  and 
smiling,  and  her  laughing  eyes  met  mine  for  a 
moment,  then  rested  upon  the  flowers  which  I 
was  holding  and  finally  glanced  back  into  mine 
full  of  mute  invitation. 

I  raised  my  hand.  Mr.  Marx  whispered, 
"  Now ! "  And  the  bouquet  was  lying  at  her 
feet.  She  picked  it  up  gracefully,  shot  a  coquet- 
tish glance  up  towards  me,  and  then  the  curtain 
fell,  and  I  sat  back  in  my  chair,  feeling  quite  con- 
vinced that  I  had  made  an  utter  fool  of  myself. 

About  the  middle  of  the  third  act  Mr.  Marx  rose 
and  walked  to  the  door.  Holding  it  open  in  his 
hand  for  a  moment,  he  paused  and  looked  round. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you  for  a  few  minutes," 
he  said.  "  I  shall  not  be  very  long." 

Then  he  went  and  I  heard  him  walk  down  the 
corridor. 

An  hour  passed  and  he  did  not  return.     The 


MISS  MABEL  FAY.  97 

last  act  came,  the  curtain  fell  and,  with  a  sigh 
of  regret,  I  rose  to  go.  Still  he  had  not  come  back. 

I  put  on  my  coat  and  lingered  about,  uncertain 
what  to  do.  Then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  box- 
door,  but,  instead  of  Mr.  Marx,  an  attendant  en- 
tered, and  handed  me  a  note.  I  tore  it  open 
and  read,  hastily  scrawled  in  pencil : 

"  I  am  round  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Come 
to  me.  The  bearer  will  show  you  the  way. — M." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

BEHIND  THE  SCENES  AT  THE  TORCHESTER 
THEATRE. 

I  FOLLOWED  my  guide  to  the  end  of  the  corridor, 
through  a  door  which  he  unlocked  and  carefully 
locked  again,  and  past  the  side  of  the  deserted 
stage,  on  which  I  paused  for  a  moment  to  gaze 
with  wonder  at  the  array  of  ropes  and  pulleys  and 
runners  which  the  carpenters  were  busy  putting 
to  rights,  and  at  the  canvas-covered,  unlit  audi- 
torium, which  looked  now — strange  transforma- 
tion— like  the  mouth  of  some  dark  cavern.  After 
picking  our  way  carefully,  we  reached  a  door  on 
which  was  painted  "  Manager's  Room."  A  voice 
from  inside  bade  us  enter  and  I  was  ushered  in. 

Mr.  Marx  was  seated  in  an  easy-chair,  talking 
somewhat  earnestly  to  a  slim,  dark  young  man, 
who  was  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece.  An 
older  man  was  writing  at  a  table  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  with  his  back  to  the  door. 

Mr.  Marx  welcomed  me  with  a  nod,  and  in- 
troduced me  briefly  to  the  young  man  by  his 
side  : 

"  Mr.  Morton — Mr.  Isaacs.  Mr.  Isaacs  is  the 
manager  of  the  company  who  are  playing  here." 

Mr.  Isaacs  turned  an  unmistakably  Jewish  face 
towards  me  and  extended  his  hand. 

"  Glad  to  meet   you,   Mr.   Morton  I    Hope  you 


BEHIND  THE  SCENES.  99 

liked  the  performance,"  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
which  disclosed  the  whole  of  a  very  white  set  of 
teeth.  "  Very  fair,  wasn't  it  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

I  replied  that  I  had  enjoyed  it  exceedingly, 
and  looked  at  Mr.  Marx,  wondering  how  long  he 
meant  to  stay.  I  had  taken  a  sudden  but  strong 
dislike  to  Mr.  Isaacs. 

"  Shall  you  be  very  long,  Mr.  Marx  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  have  sent  for  the  carriage,"  he  answered  ; 
"  it  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  something  a 
little  strange  in  Mr.  Marx's  manner  and  the  way 
in  which  he  kept  glancing  towards  the  door. 

Just  at  that  moment  someone  knocked  at  the 
door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  cried  Mr.  Isaacs. 

A  lady  obeyed  his  summons  and  swept  into 
the  room  with  a  most  unnecessary  rustling  of  silk 
skirts.  Mr.  Isaacs  welcomed  her  effusively. 

"  Miss  Fay,  your  most  humble  servant ! "  he 
exclaimed,  bowing  low.  "  Let  me  introduce  two 
of  my  friends,  Mr.  Morton  and  Mr.  Marx." 

The  lady  put  out  her  ungloved  hand,  covered 
with  a  profusion  of  rings. 

"  I  know  this  young  gentleman  by  sight,"  she 
said,  in  a  loud  and  rather  high-pitched  tone. 
;'  You  threw  me  those  lovely  flowers,  didn't  you  ? 
So  good  of  you — awfully  good  !  I've  sent  them 
home  by  my  young  woman." 

I  stammered  out  some  incoherent  response 
and  heartily  wished  myself  a  hundred  miles  away. 
What  a  disenchantment  it  was  !  I  looked  at  her 
thickly  pencilled  eyebrows,  at  the  smeared  powder 
and  paint  which  lay  thick  upon  her  face  ;  at  her 
bold,  staring  eyes,  the  crow's-feet  underneath, 
which  art  had  done  what  it  could  to  conceal  and 
failed  ;  at  the  masses  of  yellow  hair,  which  in- 
tuitively I  knew  to  be  false,  and  I  felt  my  cheeks 


too  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

burn  with  shame  that  I  should  have  been  tricked 
into  admiring  her  for  a  moment.  Unfortunately, 
she  put  down  my  embarrassment  to  another  cause, 
for  it  seemed  partly  to  gratify,  partly  to  amuse 
her. 

"  My  young  friend  and  I  admired  your  per- 
formance equally,  Miss  Fay,  although,  perhaps, 
he  was  the  more  demonstrative,"  said  Mr.  Marx, 
coming  forward.  "  Will  you  accept  the  congratu- 
lations and  thanks  of  a  provincial  who  seldom 
has  the  pleasure  of  seeing  such  acting  or  hearing 
such  a  voice  ?  " 

She  thanked  him  with  an  affected  little  laugh, 
which  suddenly  died  away  and  she  looked  into 
his  face  intently. 

"  Haven't  we  met  before  ? "  she  asked 
curiously.  "  There  is  something  about  your  face 
or  voice  which  seems  familiar  to  me." 

He  returned  her  gaze  steadily,  but  shook  his 
head  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  may  not  claim  that  honour," 
he  said.  "  If  we  had  there  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  any  uncertainty  in  my  mind 
about  it.  It  would  have  been  a  treasured 
memory." 

She  looked  doubtful,  but  turned  away  care- 
lessly. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  my  mistake,  then,"  she  remarked. 
"  You  certainly  seem  to  remind  me  of  someone 
whom  I  have  known.  Fancy,  perhaps.  Mr. 
Isaacs,  I  came  to  beg  for  your  escort  home." 
(Here  she  shot  a  quick  glance  at  me,  which  made 
my  cheeks  hot  again.)  "  I  have  sent  Julia  on, 
and  I  can't  go  alone,  can  I,  Mr.  Morton  ?  "  she 
asked,  turning  to  me. 

"  I — I  suppose  not,"  I  answered,  devoutly  wish- 
ing that  Mr.  Marx  would  take  his  departure.  But, 
as  though  on  purpose,  he  had  gone  to  the  other 


BEHIND  THE  SCENES.  101 

end  of  the  room  and  had  his  back  turned  towards 
me. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Mr.  Isaacs  glanced 
at  me,  whistled  softly  to  himself,  and  then  strolled 
slowly  over  to  the  window,  as  though  to  see  what 
sort  of  a  night  it  was.  Miss  Fay  glanced  at  me 
impatiently,  with  a  slight  contraction  in  her  eye- 
brows. I  longed  desperately  to  get  away,  but 
for  the  life  of  me  could  think  of  no  excuse. 

'  You  won't  offer  your  escort,  then,  Mr.   Mor- 
ton ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  I  can't.  I  don't  know  the  town — never  was 
here  before — and  we  have  a  twelve-mile  drive 
before  us.  We  are  expecting  the  carriage  every 
moment.  Ah,  there  it  is  !  "  I  added,  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  relief,  as  I  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 
stamping  and  pawing  outside  and  the  jingling 
of  harness.  "  Mr.  Marx,  Burdett  has  come  1 " 
I  called  out. 

He  looked  up,  frowning. 

"  All  right ;  there's  no  hurry  !  "  he  said.  "  If 
you're  not  ready,  pray  don't  study  me.  I  should 
enjoy  a  cigar  and  a  brandy-and-soda  down  at  the 
'Bell'  before  we  start." 

"  I'm  quite  ready,  thanks,"  I  answered  slowly, 
for  his  words  and  manner  had  given  me  something 
to  think  about.  "  If  you  don't  mind,  I  should 
like  to  be  getting  away.  It's  a  long  way,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  let  me  detain  you ! "  Miss 
Fay  exclaimed,  tossing  her  head.  "  Mr.  Isaacs, 
if  you're  ready,  I  am.  Good-night,  Mr.  Marx ; 
good-night,  Mr.  Morton  !  " 

She  drew  me  a  little  on  one  side — a  manoeuvre 
which  I  was  powerless  to  prevent — and  whispered 
in  my  ear  : 

"  You  shy,  stupid  boy  !     There  !  " 

She  shook  hands  with  me  again  and  left  some- 


102  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

thing  in  my  palm.  When  they  were  gone  and  I 
was  in  the  passage,  I  looked  at  it.  It  was  a  plain 
card  and  on  it  was  hastily  scribbled  an  address  : 

Miss  MABEL  FAY, 

15,  Queen  Street. 

I  felt  my  cheeks  flush  as  I  tore  it  into  pieces 
and  flung  them  on  the  ground.  Then  I  followed 
Mr.  Marx  out  to  the  carriage  and,  leaning  back 
among  the  cushions  by  his  side,  I  began  seriously 
to  consider  an  idea  which  every  trifling  incident 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  evening  had  pointed 
to ;  Mr.  Marx  had  deliberately  tried  to  lead  me 
into  making  a  fool  of  myself  with  Miss  Mabel  Fay. 
Why? 


CHAPTER   XVIII, 

AT  MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR* 

WE  were  more  than  half-way  home  before  Mr. 
Marx  broke  a  silence  which  was  becoming  oppres- 
sive. 

"  Well,  have  you  enjoyed  your  evening  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Of  course  I  have,  and  I'm  very  much  obliged 
to  you  for  taking  me  to  the  theatre,"  I  added. 
After  all,  perhaps  I  was  misjudging  him.  What 
possible  motive  could  he  have  for  being  my 
enemy  ? 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  declared,  carefully 
lighting  a  cigar  and  throwing  the  match  out  of 
the  window.  "  I'm  afraid  you've  had  more  than 
one  illusion  dispelled  this  evening,  though,"  he 
went  on,  smiling.  "  You  must  have  had  plenty 
of  time  and  opportunity,  too,  for  weaving  them, 
out  here  all  your  life.  Have  you  never  been 
away  to  visit  your  relations,  or  anything  of  that 
sort  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  have  any  relations,"  I  said. 
"  I  never  heard  of  any.  My  father  used  to  say 
that  he  was  the  last  of  his  family." 

"  But  your  mother  ?  Surely  you  know  some 
of  her  people  ?  M 

Ml 


104  MR-  MARX'S  SECRET* 

"  I  have  never  even  heard  her  speak  of  them," 
I  answered  shortly. 

"  Strange !  You  don't  happen  to  remember 
her  maiden  name,  do  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ever  heard  it,"  I  told 
him. 

I  began  to  wish  that  Mr.  Marx  would  choose 
some  other  topic  of  conversation.  Doubtless,  it 
was  exceedingly  kind  of  him  to  take  so  much  in- 
terest in  my  affairs  and  his  questions  proceeded 
from  perfectly  genuine  motives,  but  my  inability 
to  answer  any  of  them  was  becoming  a  little  em- 
barrassing. 

"  One  more  question  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
and  it  shall  be  the  last,"  he  said,  as  though  divin- 
ing my  feeling.  "  Were  you  born  here  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  never  heard  that  I  was  born 
anywhere  else." 

There  was  another  long  silence  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  Mr.  Marx  was  very  deep  in  thought. 
I  was  beginning  to  feel  sleepy  and,  closing 
my  eyes,  I  leaned  right  back  among  the  soft,  yielding 
cushions. 

It  was  one  of  the  wildest  and  roughest  nights 
of  the  year.  Both  the  carriage-windows  were 
streaming  with  raindrops,  and  we  could  hear  the 
wind  howling  across  the  open  country,  and 
whistling  mournfully  among  the  leafless  trees. 

We  had  accomplished  about  three-quarters  of 
our  journey  and  had  just  entered  upon  the  blackest 
part  of  it.  On  either  side  of  the  road  and  running 
close  up  to  it,  without  even  the  division  of 
hedges,  was  a  stretch  of  bare,  open  country, 
pleasant  enough  in  summer  time,  but  now  a 
mere  plain,  on  which  were  dotted  about  a  few 
straggling  plantations  of  sickly,  stunted  fir  trees, 
among  which  the  hurricane  was  making  weird 
music. 


AT  MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR.        105 

We  were  in  the  middle  of  this  dreary  region. 
Mr.  Marx  was  still  smoking  his  cigar,  but 
with  closed  eyes,  and  was  either  dozing  or  deep 
hi  thought.  I,  with  my  share  of  the  fur  rug 
wrapped  closely  around  my  knees,  was  trying  in 
vain  to  sleep — in  vain,  for  my  head  was  still  in  a 
whirl,  after  what  had  been  for  me  such  an  exciting 
day. 

Exciting  though  it  had  been,  however,  its  close 
was  to  be  more  so.  Suddenly,  without  the  least 
warning,  we  felt  a  sharp  jerk,  and  heard  the  coach- 
man calling  out  to  his  horses,  who  were  plung- 
ing furiously.  Mr.  Marx  and  I  both  leaned 
forward,  and,  just  as  we  did  so,  there  was  a 
tremendous  crash  of  breaking  glass,  and,  through 
the  splintered  carriage  window,  on  the  side  nearest 
to  him,  came  a  heavy  piece  of  rock,  followed  by 
a  confused  mass  of  stones  and  gravel  and  other 
debris. 

Mr.  Marx  leapt  to  his  feet,  with  his  hand  on  the 
door  handle  and  the  blood  streaming  from  his 
forehead.  Before  he  could  open  the  door,  how- 
ever, a  strange  thing  happened.  Outside,  half 
visible  through  the  remains  of  the  glass  and  half 
without  any  intervening  obstruction,  flashed  for 
one  single  second  the  white,  ghastly  face  of  a  man 
peering  in  upon  us.  It  came  and  went  so  swiftly 
that  I  could  gain  only  the  very  faintest  idea  of 
the  features ;  but  with  Mr.  Marx  it  seemed  to 
be  otherwise.  Like  a  flash  of  lightning,  a 
look  passed  across  his  face  which  has  never 
died  out  of  my  memory.  Every  feature  seemed 
to  be  dilated  and  shaken  with  a  spasmodic 
agony  of  horrified  recognition.  For  a  moment 
he  seemed  struck  helpless,  with  every  power  of 
movement  and  every  nerve  numbed.  Then  a  low 
cry,  such  as  I  have  never  before  or  since  heard 
from  human  throat,  burst  from  his  shaking  lips 


rofl  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET* 

and  his  right  hand  tore  open  his  coat  and  sought 
his  breast-pocket. 

The  door  of  the  carriage  burst  open  as  he  sprang 
into  the  road  like  a  wild  animal,  and  long  streaks 
of  fire  flashed  from  the  gleaming  revolver  which 
he  grasped  in  his  hand — a  lurid  illumination  which 
gave  me  sudden  glimpses  of  his  white,  bleeding 
face  as  he  stood  in  the  road,  firing  barrel  after 
barrel  into  the  darkness. 

I  jumped  out  and  hurried  to  his  side,  looking 
eagerly  around  into  the  dark  night  and  together 
we  stood  and  listened  in  a  breathless  silence. 
Across  the  wild,  open  moor  the  wind  came  rushing 
towards  us  with  a  deep  booming  sound,  and  among 
the  bare  tree  tops  of  a  small  plantation  before  us 
we  heard  it  shrieking  and  yelling  like  the  hellish 
laughter  of  an  army  of  witches.  The  ink-black 
clouds  lowering  close  above  our  heads  were  dis- 
solving in  a  mad  torrent  of  rain,  and  the  darkness 
was  so  intense  that,  although  we  could  hear  the 
frantic  plunging  of  the  horses  behind  us,  we  could 
neither  see  them  nor  the  carriage.  The  elements 
seemed  to  have  declared  themselves  on  the  side 
of  our  mysterious  assailant.  The  blackness  of 
the  night  and  the  roaring  of  the  wind  and  rain 
blotted  out  all  our  surroundings  and  deadened 
all  sound  save  their  own. 

"  Wait  here  !  "  cried  Mr.  Marx,  in  a  harsh,  un- 
natural tone.  And  before  I  could  open  my  mouth 
he  had  vanished  out  of  sight  and  it  seemed  as 
though  the  black,  yawning  darkness  had  swallowed 
him  up. 

For  a  while  I  stood  without  moving.  Then  a 
cry  for  help  from  the  coachman  behind  and  the 
renewed  sound  of  struggling  horses  reminded  me 
of  their  plight,  and  I  groped  my  way  back  to  the 
road  again. 

I  was  only  just  in  time.    The  horses,  fine,  power- 


AT  MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR.        107 

ful  creatures,  very  nearly  thoroughbred,  were 
perfectly  mad  with  fright,  and  the  groom,  who 
had  been  holding  and  striving  to  subdue  them, 
was  quite  exhausted.  Between  us  we  managed 
to  pacify  them  after  a  brief  struggle,  and  as  soon 
as  I  could  find  sufficient  breath  I  began  to  question 
Burdett — who  had  stuck  to  his  place  on  the  box 
like  an  immovable  statue — about  the  first  cause 
of  their  alarm. 

"  What  was  it  they  shied  at  first  ?  "  I  asked. 
"  Did  you  see  anyone  ?  " 

*'  Just  catched  a  glimpse  of  the  blackguard,  sir, 
and  that  was  all,"  Burdett  answered.  "  We  were 
a-spinning  along  beautiful,  for  they  knew  as  they 
were  on  their  way  home,  them  animals  did,  when, 
all  of  a  sudden  like,  Dandy  shies,  and  up  goes  the 
mare  on  her  hind  legs  and  as  near  as  possible 
pitches  me  into  the  road.  I  slackened  the  reins 
and  laid  the  whip  across  them,  while  Tom  jumped 
down.  And  just  then  I  saw  a  figure  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  and  heard  a  crash  through 
the  carriage  window.  Tom,  he'd  catched  hold 
of  their  heads  by  then,  which  was  lucky ;  for 
when  the  firing  began  they  was  like  mad  crea- 
tures and  I  could  never  have  held  them.  It's 
a  mercy  we  aren't  altogether  smashed  up,  and 
no  mistake.  The  Lord  save  me  from  ever 
being  out  wi'  my  'osses  again  on  such  a  night 
as  this  !  " 

"  You  didn't  see  the  face  of  the  man  who  at- 
tacked us,  then  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"Not  being  possessed  of  the  eyes  of  a  heagle 
or  a  cat,  sir,  I  did  not,"  Burdett  replied. 
"  Just  you  look  round  and  see  what  sort  of  a 
night  it  is.  Why,  I  can  only  just  make  out 
your  outline,  sir  ;  although  I've  been  looking  at 
you  this  five  minutes,  I  can't  see  nothing  of  your 
face." 


io8  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  Neither  did  you,  I  suppose,  Tom  ? "  I  asked 

the  groom. 

"  No,  sir ;  nothing  except  just  a  black  figure. 
Good  thing  that  you  was  neither  of  you  hurt,  sir." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  Mr.  Marx  isn't,"  I  answered  ; 
"  his  face  was  bleeding  a  good  deal.  I  wish  he'd 
come  back." 

Never  did  time  pass  so  slowly  as  then,  when 
we  waited  in  the  storm  and  rain  for  Mr.  Marx's 
return.  It  must  have  been  nearly  an  hour  before 
we  heard  him  hailing  us  in  the  distance,  and  soon 
afterwards  saw  his  figure  loom  out  of  the  darkness 
close  at  hand.  He  was  alone. 

Splashed  from  head  to  foot  with  mud,  hat- 
less,  and  with  great  streaks  of  blood  clotted 
upon  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  he  presented  at 
first  a  frightful  figure.  But  his  face  had  lost 
that  dreadful  expression  of  numbed  horror 
which  had  made  it  for  a  moment  so  terrible 
to  me,  and,  as  he  sank  back  breathless  and  ex- 
hausted, among  the  cushions,  he  even  attempted 
a  smile. 

"  All  in  vain,  you  see,"  he  said.  "  Couldn't 
find  a  single  trace  of  anyone  anywhere." 

"  Are  you  much  hurt,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  groom, 
who  was  tying  up  the  broken  carriage-door. 

"Not  at  all.  Only  a  scratch.  Tell  Burdett 
to  drive  home  as  fast  as  he  can  now,  Tom,  there's 
a  good  fellow." 

We  were  left  together  to  talk  over  this  strange 
affair.  Mr.  Marx  seemed  to  have  made  up  his 
mind  about  it  already. 

"Without  doubt,"  he  said  deliberately,  "it 
was  some  tramp,  desperate  with  want  or  drink, 
who  made  up  his  mind  to  play  the  highwayman. 
He  started  well,  and  then,  seeing  two  of  us  instead 
of  one,  funked  it  and  bolted.  I  don't  think  I 
ever  had  such  a  start  in  my  life." 


AT  MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR.        109 

"  You  came  off  the  worst,"  I  remarked,  pointing 
to  his  forehead. 

"  It  wasn't  that  that  upset  me,"  he  answered. 
"  It  was  a  horrible  idea  which  flashed  upon  me 
just  for  a  moment.  The  face  which  peered  in  at 
the  window — you  saw  it — was  horribly  like  the 
face  of  a  man  who  is  dead — whom  I  know  to  be 
dead.  It  gave  me,  just  while  the  idea  lasted,  a 
sensation  which  I  hope  I  shall  never  experience 
again  as  long  as  I  live.  It  was  ghastly." 

The  face  of  the  dead  !  It  was  not  a  cheerful 
thought.  But  I  looked  at  the  wrecked  door  and 
window  of  the  carriage  and  felt  immediately  re- 
assured. Our  assailant,  whoever  he  might  have 
been,  was  no  ghostly  one.  There  was  undeniable 
evidence  of  his  material  presence  and  strength 
in  the  shattered  glass,  the  wrenched  woodwork, 
and  the  wound  on  Mr.  Marx's  forehead. 

The  carriage  pulled  up  with  a  jerk.  We  had 
reached  my  home. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  come  in  and  bathe  your 
forehead,  Mr.  Marx  ?  "  I  suggested  hesitatingly. 

He  shook  his  head  and  declined. 

"  No,  thanks.  I'll  get  back  to  the  Castle  as 
soon  as  I  can  and  doctor  it  myself.  Good-bye, 
Morton.  If  I  don't  see  you  again  before  you  go, 
I  wish  you  every  success  at  Mr.  Randall's." 

I  thanked  him  warmly,  shook  his  offered  hand, 
and,  shutting  the  carriage-door,  called  out  to  Burdett 
to  drive  on.  For  a  moment  or  two  I  stood  in  the 
road  watching  the  lights  as  they  rapidly  grew 
fainter  and  fainter  in  the  distance.  Then  I  turned 
slowly  up  the  path  towards  the  house. 

Half-way  there  I  stopped  short  and,  holding 
my  breath,  listened  intently.  The  wind  had 
dropped  and  the  rain  had  almost  ceased,  but  the 
night  was  still  as  dark  as  pitch.  I  listened  with 
strained  ears  and  beating  heart  and  soon  I  knew 


no  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

that  I  had  not  been  mistaken.  Coming  down  the 
hill  between  Rothland  Wood  gate  and  where  I 
was,  along  the  road  by  which  we  had  just  come, 
I  could  hear  the  faint,  but  nevertheless  unmis- 
takable, sound  of  light,  running  footsteps.  Turn- 
ing back,  I  stole  softly  down  the  path  and  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  waiting. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

A     STRANGE     ATTACK. 

IT  could  not  in  reality  have  been  more  than  a 
minute  or  two,  although  it  seemed  to  me  then  a 
terribly  long  while,  before  I  again  heard  the 
sound  which  had  attracted  my  attention.  When 
I  did,  it  was  quite  close  at  hand,  just  at 
the  beginning  of  the  range  of  farm  -  buildings 
which  skirted  the  road.  There  was  no  possibility 
of  any  mistake.  The  situation  was  sufficiently 
plain,  at  any  rate.  Scarcely  fifty  yards  away 
a  man  was  coming  running  towards  me,  either 
barefooted  or  with  very  soft  shoes  on  ;  and 
it  was  past  midnight,  pitch  dark,  and  a  lonely 
road. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  steps  came,  and  my  heart 
began  to  beat  very  fast  indeed.  At  last,  peering 
earnestly  through  the  gloom,  I  made  out  the 
shadowy  figure  of  a  man  only  a  yard  or  two  away 
from  me,  running  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  a 
pair  of  wild,  burning  eyes  glistened  like  fire  against 
the  dark  background.  I  felt  his  warm,  panting 
breath  upon  my  cheek,  heard  a  low,  fierce  cry, 
and  a  second  later  saw  the  figure  give  a  spring 
sideways  and  vanish  in  the  shade  of  the  barn 
wall. 

I  followed  cautiously  ;    but,  although  I  groped 


iia  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

about  in  all  directions,  I  could  see  nothing.  So 
I  stood  quite  still  with  my  back  to  the  wall,  and 
called  out  softly  : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Why  are  you  hiding  from 
me?" 

No  answer.     I  tried  again  : 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you.  I  won't  do  you 
any  harm.  I  only  want  to  know  who  you  are, 
and  what " 

I  never  finished  the  sentence.  I  became  sud- 
denly conscious  of  two  glaring  eyes  looking  at  me, 
like  pieces  of  live  coal,  from  a  crumpled  heap  on 
the  ground.  Then  there  was  a  quick,  panting 
snort,  a  spring,  and  I  felt  a  man's  long,  ner- 
vous fingers  clutching  my  throat.  Gasping  and 
choking  for  breath,  I  flung  them  off,  only  to 
find  myself  held  as  though  in  a  vice  by  a  pair 
of  long  arms.  Drawing  a  deep  breath,  I  braced 
myself  up  for  the  struggle  with  my  unknown 
assailant. 

More  than  once  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost,  for 
my  opponent  was  evidently  a  powerful  man,  and 
seemed  bent  on  strangling  me.  But,  fiercely 
though  he  struggled  at  first,  I  soon  saw  that  his 
strength  was  only  the  frenzy  of  nervous  despera- 
tion and  that  it  was  fast  leaving  him.  By  degrees 
I  began  to  gain  the  upper  hand,  and  at  last,  with 
a  supreme  effort,  I  threw  him  on  his  back  and, 
before  he  could  recover  himself,  I  had  my 
knee  upon  his  chest  and  drew  a  long  breath  of 
relief. 

I  spoke  to  him,  shouted,  threatened,  commanded  ; 
but  he  took  no  notice.  Then  I  peered  down  close 
into  his  upturned  face  and  fierce  eyes,  and  the 
truth  flashed  upon  me  at  once.  I  had  been  strug- 
gling with  a  madman,  a  hopeless,  raving  lunatic, 
and  it  was  probably  he  who  had  made  the  attack 
upon  us  in  the  carriage. 


A  STRANGE  ATTACK.  113 

My  first  impulse  was  one  of  deep  gratitude  for 
my  escape ;  then  I  began  to  wonder  what  on 
earth  I  was  to  do  with  him.  He  was  lying  like 
a  log  now,  perfectly  quiet ;  but  I  knew  that  1 
had  only  to  relax  my  hold  upon  him  and  the 
struggle  would  begin  again — perhaps  terminate 
differently.  I  could  not  take  him  into  the  house, 
for  there  was  no  room  from  which  he  could 
not  easily  escape.  The  only  place  seemed  to 
me  to  be  the  coach-house.  It  was  dry  and 
clean,  with  no  windows,  save  at  the  top,  and 
with  a  good  strong  padlock.  The  coach-house 
would  do,  I  decided,  if  only  I  could  get  him 
there. 

I  drew  my  handkerchief  from  my  pocket,  and, 
knotting  it  with  my  teeth,  secured  his  hands  as 
well  as  I  could.  Then,  seizing  him  by  the  collar, 
I  half  dragged,  half  helped  him  up  the  garden 
path  till  we  reached  the  coach-house,  and,  open- 
ing the  door  with  one  hand,  I  thrust  him  in. 
He  made  no  resistance  ;  in  fact,  he  seemed 
utterly  cowed  ;  and  a  pitiable  object  he  looked, 
crouched  on  the  floor,  with  his  face  turned  to 
the  wall.  I  struck  a  match  to  obtain  a  better 
view  of  him. 

His  only  attire  was  a  grey  flannel  shirt  and  a 
pair  of  dark  trousers,  both  of  which  were  torn  in 
places  and  saturated  with  rain.  Of  his  face  I 
could  see  little,  for  it  was  half  hidden  by  the  hair, 
matted  with  dirt  and  rain,  and  by  his  bushy 
whiskers  and  beard,  ragged  and  unkempt.  His 
feet  were  bare  and  black  with  a  thick  coating 
of  mud  ;  hence  his  soft,  stealthy  tread.  Altogether, 
he  was  a  gruesome  object,  as  he  lay  a  huddled 
heap  against  the  wall,  muttering  to  himself  some 
unintelligible  jargon. 

Loosing  his  hands,  I  left  him  there,  and,  softly 
entering  the  house,  found  some  food  and  rugs  and 


H4  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

took  them  out  to  him.  He  eyed  the  former  raven- 
ously, and  before  I  could  set  it  down  he  snatched 
a  piece  of  bread  from  my  hands  and  began 
eagerly  to  devour  it.  I  put  the  remainder  down 
by  his  side  and,  throwing  the  rugs  over  him, 
stole  away, 


CHAPTER   XX, 

THE  MONASTERY  AMONG  THE   HILLS. 

I  awoke  in  the  morning  the  sun  was  already 
high  in  the  heavens  and  it  was  considerably  past 
my  usual  hour  of  rising.  I  jumped  out  of  bed  at 
once  and  began  my  toilet.  I  had  scarcely  finished 
my  bath  when  there  came  a  loud  tap  at  the 
door. 

"  Hallo  !  "  I  cried  out.     "  Anything  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Please,  sir,  John  wants  to  know 
whether  you  locked  anything  up  in  the  coach- 
house last  night.  There  was " 

"Yes,  I  did,"  I  interrupted  quickly.  "Tell 
him  not  to  go  there  till  I  come  down." 

"  Please,  sir,  it's  too  late,"  the  girl  answered, 
in  a  frightened  tone.  "  It's  got  away,  whatever 
it  is." 

I  dropped  the  towel  with  which  I  had  been 
rubbing  myself  and  hurried  on  my  clothes.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  was  down  in  the  yard,  where 
several  men  were  standing  together  talking.  John 
left  them  at  once  and  came  to  me. 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  go  to  the  coach-house 
so  early  ?  "  I  exclaimed,  glancing  at  the  wide-open 
door  and  empty  interior.  "  I  had  an  awful  job 
to  get  that  man  in  there  last  night,  and  now  you've 
let  him  go." 

"  Well,  sir,  it  was  a  fearful  row  he  was  a-making," 


n6  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

explained  John.  "  Soon  as  I  came  this  morning, 
about  five  o'clock,  I  was  passing  through  the  stack- 
yard when  I  heard  an  awful  thumping  at  the  coach- 
house door  from  the  inside.  Of  course,  I  knew 
nowt  about  there  being  anyone  theer,  so  I  just 
goes  straight  up  and  opens  the  door,  to  see  what 
was  the  matter,  like,  and,  lor,  I  did  'ave  a  skeer, 
and  no  mistake  !  It  wur  quite  dark,  and  I  could 
see  nowt  but  a  pair  o'  heyes  a-glaring  at  me  as 
savage  as  a  wild  animal's.  '  Coom  out  o'  this 
'ere  and  let's  ha'  a  look  at  yer,'  I  says,  for,  d'ye 
see,  I  thought  as  it  wur  someone  who  had  crept 
in  unbeknown  in  the  daytime  and  got  locked  in 
by  mistake.  There  warn't  no  answer,  and  I  wur 
just  about  to  strike  a  match  and  'ave  a  look  at 
*im,  when  he  springs  at  me  like  a  wild  cat.  I  tried 
to  hold  him  and  I'm  darned  if  he  didn't  nearly 
make  his  teeth  meet  through  my  hand." 

He  touched  his  right  hand  lightly,  and  I  no- 
ticed for  the  first  time  that  it  was  bandaged  up. 

"  He  got  away  from  you,  then  ?  "  I  remarked. 

"  Got  away  from  me  ?  "  John  repeated,  in  a  tone 
of  utter  disgust.  "  He  warn't  such  a  sweet-looking 
object,  or  sweet-tempered  'un  either,  that  I  wur 
over-anxious  for  the  pleasure  of  his  company, 
he  warn't !  I  just  got  my  hand  out  of  his  jaws 
and  let  him  go  as  fast  as  he  liked,  with  a  jolly 
good  kick  behind  to  help  him  on,  too.  You  see, 
sir,  I  didn't  know  as  you'd  anything  to  do  with 
putting  him  in  there,"  the  man  added  apologeti- 
cally. "  I  thought  he'd  got  in  quite  promiscuous- 
like." 

To  tell  the  truth,  although  I  had  been  alarmed 
at  first,  I  did  not  particularly  regret  what  had 
happened.  At  any  rate,  it  saved  me  the  bother 
of  going  over  to  the  police-station  at  Mellborough. 
Still,  the  thought  that  he  might  even  now  be  lurk- 
ing about  in  the  vicinity,  with  plenty  of  oppor- 


THE  MONASTERY  AMONG  THE  HILLS.    117 

tunities  to  provide  a  weapon  for  himself,  was  not 
altogether  a  pleasant  one. 

"  Who  might  he  have  been,  sir  ? "  John  in- 
quired curiously. 

"  Just  what  I  should  like  to  know,"  I  answered. 
"  He's  a  lunatic  and  a  dangerous  one,  that's  cer- 
tain— escaped  from  some  asylum,  I  should  think." 
And  I  told  him  of  my  adventure  on  the  previous 
night,  to  which  the  whole  group  listened  open- 
mouthed. 

"  I'm  thinking,  sir,"  John  remarked,  when  I 
had  finished,  "  that  it'd  be  as  well  for  Foulds  and  I 
to  have  a  scour  round  and  see  if  we  can't  find  him, 
or  he'll  be  doing  someone  a  mischief." 

"  If  you  are  not  very  busy  I  wish  you  would," 
I  said.  "  I  don't  feel  quite  easy  at  the  thought 
of  his  wandering  about  round  here.  If  you  do 
find  him,  lock  him  up  and  send  word  to  the  police- 
station  at  Mellborough." 

After  breakfast  that  morning  my  mother  made 
a  request  which  startled  me  almost  as  much  as 
it  delighted  me. 

"  I  am  going  to  walk  over  to  the  monastery, 
Philip,"  she  said  quietly.  "  Will  you  come  with 
me?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,  mother,"  I  answered  promptly. 
"  Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure.  Whsn 
will  you  start  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  ready  in  half  an  hour,"  she  said, 
with  a  faint  smile,  as  though  she  were  pleased  at 
my  ready  acquiescence.  Then  she  left  the  room 
to  get  ready. 

In  about  the  time  she  had  mentioned  she  came 
into  the  garden  to  me  and  we  started  on  our  walk. 
It  was  a  very  uneventful  one,  but  I  don't  think 
that  I  shall  ever  forget  it.  My  mother  seemed, 
after  her  brief  relapse  into  comparative  kindness, 
to  have  become  more  inaccessible  than  ever ;  and 


ii8  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

she  walked  along  by  my  side,  with  downcast  eyes 
and  a  nervous,  thoughtful  expression  on  her  pale 
face. 

I,  too,  felt  somewhat  depressed  at  starting,  but 
soon  the  fresh,  pure  air,  becoming  stronger  and 
stronger  as  we  left  the  road  and  followed  the 
footpath  by  Beacon  Hill,  had  its  invariable  effect 
upon  my  spirits.  Ah1  perplexing  thoughts  and 
forebodings  of  trouble  passed  away  from  me  like 
magic,  and  my  heart  beat  and  the  blood  flowed 
through  my  veins  with  all  the  impetuous  ardour 
of  sanguine  youth. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  we  paused,  I  to  look  round 
upon  my  favourite  scene,  my  mother  to  rest  for 
a  moment.  Then  we  saw  how  great  had  been  the 
storm  of  the  night  before. 

Here  and  there  were  the  bare  trunks  of  trees 
and  many  a  cattle-shed  and  barn  stood  roofless. 
The  storm  seemed  to  have  worked  havoc  every- 
where, save  where,  on  the  summit  of  its  wooded 
hill,  Ravenor  Castle,  with  its  great  range  of  mighty 
battlements,  its  vast  towers,  and  grey  walls  of 
invincible  thickness,  frowned  down  upon  the  country 
at  its  feet.  Looking  across  at  it,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  place  had  never  seemed  so  imposing  as 
then. 

My  mother  stood  by  my  side  and  noticed  my 
intent  gaze. 

"  You  admire  Ravenor  Castle  very  much, 
Philip  ? "  she  said  quietly. 

I  withdrew  my  eyes  with  an  effort. 

"  I  do,  mother,"  I  confessed ;  "  very  much 
indeed.  The  place  has  a  sort  of  fascination  for 
me — and  the  man  who  lives  there  !  " 

My  mother  had  turned  a  little  away  from  me 
and  stood  with  face  upturned  to  heaven  and 
mutely  moving  lips.  Out  of  her  eyes  I  could  see 
the  tears  slowly  welling,  and  her  tall  slim  figure 


THE  MONASTERY  AMONG  THE  HILLS.    119 

was  convulsed  with  sobs.  I  sprang  to  her  side 
and  caught  hold  of  her  hand. 

"  What  is  it,  mother  ?  "  I  cried.     "  Tell  me  !  " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  Not  now,  Philip — not  now.     Come,  let  us  go  !  " 

Side  by  side  we  began  to  descend  the  hill.  Our 
path  wound  around  several  freshly-planted  spin- 
neys and  then  led  through  a  plantation  of  pine-trees. 

Then  we  turned  with  regret,  so  far  as  I  was 
concerned,  into  the  muddy  road  again  and  walked 
for  more  than  a  mile  between  high,  straight  hedges. 
At  last,  soon  after  mid-day,  we  turned  to  the  left, 
passed  through  a  farmyard  and  along  a  winding 
path,  which  led  us,  now  by  the  side  of  turnip  fields, 
now  across  bracken-covered  open  country,  to  the 
summit  of  our  last  hill. 

Here  again  we  paused.  Below  us,  close  up 
against  the  background  of  the  colourless  hills, 
drearily  situated  in  the  bleakest  spot  of  the  austere 
landscape,  the  straight  spires  and  severely  simple 
buildings  of  the  monastery  were  clustered  together. 
A  little  above  it,  on  an  artificial  eminence  of  rock, 
a  rude  cross  stood  out  in  vivid  relief  against  the 
sky,  and  on  this  my  mother's  eyes  were  fixed  with 
a  sort  of  rapt  wistfulness,  as  we  stood  side  by  side 
on  the  top  of  the  hill  looking  downwards. 

It  was  a  fitting  spot  that  these  men — who 
counted  it  among  their  virtues  that  in  their  rigid 
self-immolation  they  had  cut  themselves  off  even 
from  the  beauties  of  Nature — had  chosen  for  their 
habitation.  But  although  the  place  had  a  peculiar 
impressi veness  of  its  own,  which  never  failed  to 
exercise  a  sort  of  fascination  upon  me,  I  was  glad 
to-day  when  my  mother  moved  forward  again. 

As  we  neared  the  end  of  our  journey  and  turned 
in  at  the  long,  straight  avenue  which  led  to  the 
monastery  doors,  the  strange  agitation  which  I  had 
noticed  in  my  mother's  manner  during  the  earlier 


120  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

part  of  the  day  visibly  increased.  The  cold  in- 
expressiveness  which  had  dwelt  for  so  long  in  her 
face  vanished,  and  into  it  there  crept  a  look  which, 
having  once  seen,  I  cared  not  to  look  upon  again. 
It  seemed  as  though  she  were  endeavouring  to 
brace  herself  up  for  some  tremendous  ordeal,  and 
I  would  have  given  anything  to  have  been  able 
to  put  into  words  the  sympathy  which  had  risen 
up  strongly  within  me. 

Unnatural,  cold,  severe  and,  at  the  best  of  times, 
indifferent,  as  she  had  lately  been  to  me,  she  was 
still  my  mother  and  I  loved  her.  But  I  dared  not 
break  in  with  words  upon  the  fierce  anguish  which 
was  already  beginning  to  leave  its  marks  upon 
her  white,  strained  face.  Only  when  we  stood 
before  the  bare  stone  front  of  the  monastery,  and 
with  feeble  fingers  she  had  pulled  the  great  iron 
bell,  could  I  speak  at  all,  and  then  the  words  were 
not  such  as  I  wished  to  speak.  Afterwards,  when 
I  thought  of  them — and  I  often  did  think  of 
them  and  of  every  trifling  incident  of  that  memor- 
able walk — they  seemed  to  me  weak  and  Ul-chosen. 

But,  such  as  they  were,  I  am  glad  that  I  spoke 
them. 

She  listened  as  one  whose  thoughts  were  far 
away,  but  when  I  ceased,  breathless,  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  my  arm  and,  with  her  dim,  sad  eyes 
looking  into  mine,  said  simply  : 

"  This  is  for  your  sake,  Philip — for  your  sake  !  " 

Then,  before  I  could  ask  her  what  she  meant, 
the  great  door  slowly  opened  and  the  guest-master 
stood  before  us.  She  passed  him  with  a  silent 
salutation  and  vanished  on  her  way  to  the  chapel ; 
and,  though  I  watched  her  longingly,  I  dared  not 
follow.  Then,  declining  Father  Bernard's  invita- 
tion to  go  to  his  room  and  rest,  I  turned  away 
from  the  door  and  wandered  into  the  grounds. 

Hour  after  hour  of  the  brief  winter's  day  passed 


THE  MONASTERY  AMONG  THE  HILLS.    121 

away.  Father  Bernard  came  out  in  search  of  me 
and  offered  me  refreshments  ;  but  I  shook  my  head. 
I  could  not  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  rest.  A  strange 
but  powerful  apprehension  of  some  coming  crisis 
in  my  life — some  great  evil  connected  with  my 
mother's  visit  to  this  place — had  laid  hold  of  me, 
and  all  my  struggles  against  it  were  impotent. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  she  came. 
I  had  climbed  up  to  the  top  of  "  Calvary  "  and, 
with  sick  heart  and  longing  eyes,  was  watching 
the  door  from  which  she  must  issue.  Suddenly 
it  was  opened  and  she  stood  for  a  moment  upon 
the  threshold  looking  around  for  me.  To  my 
dying  day  I  shall  think  of  her  as  I  saw  her  then. 

Her  face  was  the  face  of  a  saint — calm,  passion- 
less, and  happy,  with  a  gentle,  chastened  happi- 
ness. I  knew,  when  I  looked  upon  her,  that  she 
had  left  the  burden  of  her  great  •  sorrow  behind. 
But  she  had  paid  a  price  for  it.  Pale  and  fragile 
as  she  had  always  appeared,  she  seemed  now  to 
have  been  wasted  by  some  fierce,  scathing  ordeal, 
which  had  driven  out  of  her  features  everything 
human  and  left  only  a  spiritual  life.  As  she  moved 
slowly  forward  into  the  drive  and  I  saw  her  even 
more  distinctly,  she  seemed  to  me  to  have  gained 
a  strange,  new  beauty  ;  but  it  was  a  beauty  which 
made  me  look  upon  her  with  a  sudden  shuddering 
fear. 

I  hurried  down  to  her  side  and  she  welcomed 
me  with  a  smile  such  as  I  had  seldom  seen  on  her 
face,  and  which  was  altogether  in  harmony  with 
her  softened  expression.  Then  she  took  my  arm 
and  we  turned  towards  home. 

'  You  are  happier  now,  mother  ?  "  I  ventured 
to  ask  her,  and  she  answered  me  by  silently  pressing 
my  arm. 

We  passed  down  the  avenue,  thickly  strewn  with 
decaying  leaves,  along  the  winding  lane,  and 


122  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

through  the  gate  which  led  up  to  Ive's  Head  Hill. 
Once  or  twice  as  we  were  making  the  ascent  I 
fancied  that  she  hung  heavily  upon  my  arm  and 
I  asked  if  she  were  tired ;  but  she  only  shook 
her  head.  We  had  reached  the  summit  before  the 
terrible  fear  which  had  been  gnawing  at  my  heart 
took  definite  shape.  Then,  for  the  first  time  since 
we  had  started  upon  our  return  journey,  I  was 
able  to  look  into  her  face,  which  she  had  been 
keeping  averted  from  me,  and  when  I  saw  the 
ghastly  change  which  had  crept  into  it,  my  heart 
stood  still  and  all  my  senses  seemed  numbed  with 
fear. 

"  Mother,"  I  cried,  "  you  are  ill !  What  is  the 
matter  ?  Oh,  speak  to  me — do  !  " 

She  had  fallen  into  my  arms,  and  her  hands, 
which  touched  mine  as  they  fell  to  her  side,  were 
as  cold  as  ice.  Her  face  was  like  the  face  of  one 
who  has  already  triumphed  over  the  shadows  of 
death.  Far  away  at  our  feet  the  Cross  of  Calvary 
was  standing  out  with  rugged  vividness  against 
the  fast  darkening  sky  and  upon  it  her  closing 
eyes  were  steadily  fixed.  Her  lips  were  slightly 
parted  in  a  happy,  confident  smile,  and  her 
whole  being  seemed  absorbed  in  the  most  religious 
devotion.  Once  she  whispered  my  name  and 
faintly  pressed  my  hand  ;  then  her  lips  moved  again 
and  I  heard  the  dread  sound  of  the  solemn  prayer, 
faltered  out  in  a  broken  whisper,  "  In  mamis  Tuas, 
Domine  I " 

In  my  heart  I  knew  that  she  was  dying,  and 
that  human  help  would  be  of  no  avail.  Yet  I 
was  loth  to  abandon  all  hope,  and  setting  her  gently 
down  I  looked  anxiously  around.  On  the  summit 
of  the  next  range  of  hills  a  man  was  sitting  on 
horseback,  looking  down  upon  the  monastery — 
a  motionless  figure  against  the  sky.  I  cried  out 
to  him,  and  at  the  sound  of  my  voice  he  started 


THE  MONASTERY  AMONG  THE  HILLS.    123 

round  and  looked  towards  us  J  then,  suddenly 
digging  the  spurs  deep  into  the  sides  of  his  great 
black  horse,  he  came  thundering  up  the  side  of 
the  hill  at  a  pace  which  made  the  ground  shake 
beneath  my  feet  like  the  tremblings  of  an  earth- 
quake. 

"  What  is  wrong  ?  "  he  cried  hoarsely  ;  and, 
looking  into  his  face,  I  recognised  Mr.  Ravenor. 

I  pointed  to  my  mother's  prostrate  figure,  and, 
gazing  d.c  him  with  dry  eyes,  I  answered  mechani- 
cally : 

"  She  is  dying  !  " 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  my  lips  before  he 
had  leaped  from  his  horse,  and,  passing  his  arm 
around  her,  bent  over  her  pallid  face. 

"  Oh,  this  is  horrible  !  "  he  murmured.  "  You 
must  not  die — you  must  not  die  !  I  have " 

His  voice  seemed  choked  with  emotion  and  he 
did  not  finish  his  sentence.  She  spoke  to  him, 
but  so  softly  that  I  could  not  hear  the  words. 

I  walked  a  few  yards  away  and  once  more  looked 
wildly  round.  Far  away  on  the  dark  hillside  I 
could  see  the  white-robed  figures  of  the  lay  brethren 
bending  over  their  labour.  Nearer  there  was  no 
one.  The  road  below  was  deserted  and  a  deep 
stillness  seemed  brooding  over  the  bare,  shadowy 
landscape.  Sick  at  heart  I  turned  back  and  fell 
on  my  knees  by  my  mother's  side. 

We  remained  .here,  fearing  almost  to  look  into 
her  face,  until  the  twilight  deepened  upon  the  hills 
and  slowly  blotted  out  from  our  view  even  the 
dark  cross  standing  up  against  the  grey  sky.  Then 
Mr.  Ravenor  leaned  for  a  moment  forward  and  a 
low  groan  escaped  from  his  lips.  It  told  me  what 
I  dreaded — that  my  mother  was  dead  I 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

A  MESSAGE   FROM  THE   DEAD* 

THE  paroxysm  of  my  grief  passed  slowly  away, 
and  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  looked  around  with 
streaming  eyes.  Mr.  Ravenor  was  still  by  my  side, 
and  together  we  carried  my  mother  back  to  the 
monastery.  The  news  of  our  approach  had  preceded 
us,  and  long  before  we  reached  our  journey's  end  the 
solemn  minute-bell  was  tolling  out  to  the  silent  night, 
awakening  strange  echoes  in  the  hills  and  finding  a 
reverberation  of  its  mournfulness  in  my  heart. 

Austere  and  impressive  as  the  great  bare  front 
of  the  monastery  had  always  appeared  to  me, 
it  had  never  seemed  so  cold  and  desolate  as  when 
our  melancholy  little  procession  wound  round  the 
Hill  of  Calvary  and  slowly  approached  the  entrance. 
The  gloom  of  a  winter's  evening  was  hanging  around 
the  building,  which,  with  never  a  ray  of  light 
from  any  part,  looked  like  a  habitation  of  the  dead 
— a  gigantic  vault. 

But  suddenly,  as  we  drew  near,  the  front  door 
was  slowly  opened  and  the  dark  figure  of  a  monk, 
holding  above  his  head  a  lighted  taper,  stood  on  the 
steps  and  in  a  low  monotone  repeated  a  Latin  prayer. 
When  he  ceased  there  was  a  moment's  silence,  and 
then  from  the  chapel  there  came  the  sound  of  deep 
voices  chanting  slowly  in  solemn  unison  the 
Miserere. 

1*4 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  DEAD.        125 

The  remainder  of  that  night  seems  like  a  dream 
to  me  now,  of  which  I  can  recall  but  little.  But 
I  remember  that,  long  past  midnight,  when  I 
had  thrown  myself  down  upon  the  stone  floor  oi 
the  guest-chamber,  I  heard  soft  steps  and  the 
rustle  of  garments  approaching  me,  and,  looking  up, 
I  saw  the  sweetest  face  I  ever  beheld  in  man  or 
woman  looking  down  into  mine  from  the  deep  folds 
of  a  monk's  cowl. 

He  stayed  with  me  for  a  while,  speaking  welcome 
words  of  comfort ;  then,  gathering  his  robes  about 
him,  he  stood  up,  prepared  to  leave.  But  first 
he  handed  me  a  small  packet. 

"  This  was  left  in  my  charge  for  you,  Philip 
Morton,"  he  said.  "  Little  did  I  dream  that  so 
soon  I  should  be  called  upon  to  fulfil  my  trust. 
Take  it,  my  son." 

The  packet,  which  I  opened  with  reverent 
fingers,  was  a  very  small  one,  and  consisted  of  a 
single  letter  only.  That  I  might  see  the  more 
clearly  to  read  it,  I  pushed  open  the  narrow, 
diamond-framed  window,  and  the  moonlight  filled 
the  little  room  with  a  soft,  mellowed  light.  Then 
I  read ; 

"The  Barnwood  Monastery  of  St.  Clement's, 

"November  igth,  18 — . 

"MY  DEAREST  SON, — I  write  these  lines  to  you, 
Philip,  feeling  happier  than  I  have  done  for  many 
years,  because  I  have  a  deep  and  sure  conviction 
that  my  life  is  drawing  fast  to  a  close,  and  that 
the  end  may  come  at  any  minute.  Alas  !  my  son, 
I  feel  that  I  have  not  been  to  you  all  that  a  mother 
should  be.  It  may  be  that  my  coldness  has 
alienated  from  me  the  love  which  I  know  you 
have  been  willing  to  give.  It  may  be  so ;  but  I 
choose  rather  to  believe  that  you  will  pity  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  the  coldness  which  has  grown  up 


126  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

between  us  was  none  of  my  choosing,  but 
was  only  part  of  a  terrible  punishment  which  I 
have  had  to  bear  for  many  weary  years. 

"  What  my  sin — or  let  me  be  merciful  to  my- 
self and  call  it  my  error — was,  I  do  not  purpose 
here  to  tell  you.  Some  day  the  person  at  whose 
discretion  I  have  left  it  may  deem  it  well  to  tell 
you  the  whole  story.  For  my  sake,  Philip,  for 
the  sake  of  the  love  which  I  know  you  bear  me — 
and  which,  God  knows,  I  have  for  you — I  beg  you 
to  wait  until  that  time  comes  and  not  seek  to 
hasten  it. 

"  Think  of  me  as  kindly  as  you  can,  dear.  If 
the  path  which  I  chose  to  follow  was  not  the  wisest, 
I  have,  at  least,  suffered  terribly  for  it.  For  many 
weary  years  grief  and  horror  and  remorse  have 
been  making  my  life  one  long  purgatory.  Yes, 
I  have  suffered  indeed.  But  at  last  I  have  found 
peace. 

"Do  not  marvel  at  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you, 
Philip.  My  will — the  little  I  have  to  leave  is  yours 
— is  drawn  up  and  signed  and  I  have  appointed 
Mr.  Ravenor  your  guardian.  There  are  reasons 
for  this  which  you  cannot  know,  but  he  will  be 
only  too  glad  to  accept  the  charge  ;  and  in  all 
things,  Philip,  even  if  he  should  desire  you  alto- 
gether to  change  your  position  in  life,  follow  his 
command  and  submit  to  his  wishes. 

"  Farewell,  my  beloved  son — farewell !  God 
grant  that  your  life  may  be  good  and  happy,  and 
that  your  last  days  may  be  as  peaceful  as  mine. 
I  can  wish  you  nothing  better.  Once  more,  fare- 
well 1 — Your  affectionate 

"  MOTHER." 


CHAPTER   XXII, 

FOR  LIFE. 

MY  mother's  death  marked  an  epoch  in  my  life, 
for  immediately  afterwards  a  great  change  came 
over  my  circumstances  and  position.  Of  the  dreary 
days  just  before  and  after  the  funeral  I  shall  here 
say  but  little.  Their  sadness  is  for  me  and  me 
alone. 

Until  after  the  ceremony  I  remained  at  the 
monastery,  seeking  relief  from  my  thoughts  by 
rambles  over  the  hills,  by  watches  at  dead  of 
night  before  the  spot  where,  with  many  candles 
burning  round  her  open  coffin,  my  mother  lay, 
and  by  long  conversations  with  Father  Alexander, 
my  comforter.  When  the  time  of  the  funeral  came, 
Mr.  Ravenor  stood  by  my  side,  the  only  other 
mourner,  and  I  knew  that  the  banks  of  choice 
white  flowers,  which  smothered  the  coffin  and 
perfumed  the  winter  air,  were  his  gift. 

After  it  was  all  over  he  came  to  me  where  I 
stood,  a  little  apart,  and  put  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder. 

"  Philip,  my  boy,"  he  said  kindly,  "  will  you 
come  back  to  the  Castle  with  me  ?  I  am  your 
guardian  now,  you  know." 

I  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Let  me  go  back  to  the  farm  for  a  week  by 


128  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

myself,"  I  said  ;  "  then  I  will  come  to  you.  Be 
ready  to  go  to  Dr.  Randall's." 

"  Let  it  be  so,  then,"  he  answered.  "  Perhaps 
it  is  best.*' 

I  said  good-bye  to  the  monks,  especially  to 
Father  Alexander,  with  regret,  for  they  had  all 
been  very  good  to  me.  Then  I  accompanied  Mr. 
Ravenor  to  his  carriage  and  was  driven  swiftly 
homewards. 

The  week  that  followed  I  spent  in  solitude,  and 
as  the  days  passed  by  the  bitterness  of  my  grief 
left  me.  Not  that  the  memory  of  my  mother 
grew  less  dear — rather  the  reverse  ;  but  I  began 
to  recognise  that  what  had  happened  was  best. 
Better  that  she  should  have  died  thus,  full  of 
thoughts  of  holy  things  and  with  a  conscience  at 
rest,  than  that  she  should  still  be  bearing  with 
aching  heart  a  burden  which  she  had  never  de- 
served. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  week  I  was  told  that  a 
visitor  had  arrived  and  wished  to  see  me,  and 
before  I  could  ask  his  name  he  had  entered  the 
room.  It  was  Mr.  Marx. 

The  man  was  surely  an  admirable  actor.  In- 
stinct told  me  that  he  cared  not  a  jot  for  either  my 
mother  or  me  ;  but  his  few  words  of  sympathy 
were  excellently  chosen  and  gracefully  spoken. 
Then  he  at  once  changed  the  subject  and  talked 
pleasantly  of  other  things  ;  and  as  he  went  on  I 
suddenly  remembered  that  I  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  night  of  our  drive  home  from  Tor- 
chester,  and  that,  therefore,  he  could  know  no- 
thing of  the  adventure  which  had  befallen  me 
after  his  departure.  I  took  advantage,  therefore, 
of  a  pause  in  the  conversation  to  tell  him  all  about 
it ;  and,  impassive  though  his  face  was,  I  could 
see  that  it  made  a  great  impression. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  the  man  was  like  ?  " 


FOR  LIFE,  129 

he  asked,  knitting  his  brows.  "Can  you  describe 
him  ?  " 

I  did  so  as  well  as  I  could  and  in  the  midst  of 
my  narration,  making  some  trivial  excuse,  he 
moved  his  chair  out  of  the  light  into  the  shadows 
of  the  room.  But  if  he  wished  to  escape  my  scrutiny 
he  was  a  little  too  late,  for  I  had  already  noticed 
his  blanched  face  and  trembling  hands.  Evidently 
there  was  something  more  in  this  midnight  attack 
than  I  had  thought.  Who  was  the  lunatic  ?  I 
wondered.  I  felt  sure,  looking  at  him  closely, 
that  Mr.  Marx  knew.  No  need  now  for  Mr.  Rave- 
nor  to  warn  me  against  the  companionship  of  this 
man.  Already  my  passive  dislike  had  grown  into 
an  active  aversion. 

Instinctively  I  felt  that  he  was  both  unscrupulous 
and  untrustworthy.  I  felt  that  he  was  seeking 
me  for  ends  of  his  own,  and  all  the  time  I  was  half 
afraid  of  him. 

Doubtless  my  manner  showed  that  he  was  no 
welcome  visitor,  but  still  he  lingered.  At  last 
my  housekeeper  brought  me  in  my  afternoon  cup 
of  tea  and  I  was  compelled  to  ask  him  to  join  me. 
He  did  so,  drank  it  thoughtfully,  and  immediately 
afterwards  rose  to  go. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  what  can  have  become 
of  this  poor  lunatic,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Scarcely 
a  pleasant  person  to  meet  on  a  dark  evening." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  as  I  walked  out  into 
the  hall  with  him. 

"  It  is  nearly  a  fortnight  ago,"  I  remarked ; 
"  he  'can  hardly  have  remained  in  the  neighbour- 
hood and  in  hiding  all  this  time." 

"  Still,  if  he  had  been  captured  we  should 
have  heard  of  it,"  Mr.  Marx  objected. 

"  Probably.  And  yet  I  don't  see  why.  I  should 
not,  at  any  rate,  as  I  have  been  away  at  the 
monastery ;  and  you,  I  don't  know  how  you 

I 


130  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

would  have  heard  of  it,  unless  you  read  the  local 
papers." 

"  A  weakness  of  which  I  am  not  guilty," 
he  answered  drily.  "  Nor  have  I  been  outside 
the  grounds.  We  have  been  hard  at  work." 

"  Did  you  walk  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  came  down  in  a  trap  from  the  Castle, 
but  the  man  was  going  to  Mellborough  and  I 
told  him  not  to  wait  for  me.  You  won't  walk 
across  the  park  with  me,  I  suppose,  just  to 
get  an  appetite  for  dinner  ?  It's  a  splendid 
evening." 

I  looked  at  him  furtively,  but  closely.  Yes, 
Mr.  Marx  was  a  coward,  in  addition  to  his  other 
slight  demerits. 

"  No,  thanks,"  I  answered  shortly.  "  I've  had 
a  long  walk  already  to-day.  Good  evening  !  " 

I  turned  back  into  the  sitting  -  room,  but 
before  I  had  reached  my  easy  -  chair  I  began 
to  think  that  I  was  scarcely  behaving  well. 
After  all,  Mr.  Marx  was  a  middle-aged  man, 
and  it  was  possible  that  his  strength  might 
have  been  sapped  by  the  brain  labour  in 
which  he  was  constantly  engaged  and  his  sedentary 
life. 

Supposing  he  were  to  encounter  this  lunatic 
and  suffer  at  his  hands,  perhaps  even  lose 
his  life,  should  I  not  blame  myself  ?  I  came  to 
a  speedy  decision.  I  would  let  him  have  his  fright, 
but  I  would  follow  him  at  a  little  distance  and  see 
that  he  came  to  no  harm. 

I  took  a  short,  heavy  stick  from  the  rack  and, 
crossing  the  stackyard,  vaulted  over  the  palings 
into  the  park,  purposely  avoiding  the  gate.  About 
a  hundred  yards  in  front  Mr.  Marx  was  walking 
quickly  along,  with  both  hands  in  his  ulster  pockets, 
and  looking  frequently  around  him.  Men  had 


FOR  LIFEj  131 

been  busy  in  the  park  on  the  previous  day  cutting 
the  bracken,  and  along  the  side  of  the  road  were 
many  stacks  of  it  waiting  to  be  carted  away.  I 
noticed  that  whenever  Mr.  Marx  drew  near  one  of 
these  he  gave  it  a  wide  berth  and  I  smiled  to 
myself  at  this  evidence  of  his  anxiety. 

I  was  walking  on  the  turf,  that  he  might  not 
hear  my  footsteps,  and  was  able  to  keep  him 
easily  in  sight,  for  it  was  a  clear,  frosty  evening, 
and  the  full  moon  was  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky. 
At  a  sudden  bend  in  the  road  he  came  in  sight 
of  a  place  where  stacks  of  bracken  had  been  left 
on  either  side  opposite  to  each  other.  I  saw 
him  pause  as  though  hesitating  which  he  should 
avoid,  and  at  the  same  moment  I  distinctly 
saw  some  dark  body  crouched  down  behind  one 
of  them  and  swaying  slightly  backwards  and 
forwards. 

I  broke  at  once  into  a  run,  but  before  the 
echoes  of  my  warning  shout  had  died  away  a 
figure  sprang  like  a  wild  cat  at  Mr.  Marx's  throat. 
There  was  a  flash  and  a  sharp  report,  but  from  the 
direction  of  the  former  I  could  see  that  the  revolver 
had  been  knocked  up  into  the  air  and  exploded 
harmlessly. 

When  at  last  I  reached  the  assailant  and 
his  victim  it  was  a  fearful  sight  I  looked  upon. 
The  face  of  the  lunatic  was  ghastly  and  his 
wild  eyes  almost  started  from  their  sockets  in  his 
rage. 

White  and  emaciated  as  a  skeleton's,  his  face 
was  still  capable  of  expression — and  such  an 
expression.  A  frenzied  desire  to  kill  seemed  to  be 
his  sole  aim,  and  his  long,  skinny  fingers  clutched 
Mr.  Marx's  throat  as  in  a  vice.  The  latter's  eye- 
balls were  protruding  from  his  head  and  his  breath 
was  coming  in  short,  agonised  pants  ;  yet  all  the 
while  Mr.  Marx  was  holding  the  madman  in  such  a 


133  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET,, 

fierce  grip  that  I  could  hear  his  ribs  snapping  like 
whalebone. 

My  arrival  saved  Mr.  Marx  from  a  speedy  death 
by  strangulation.  Though  I  lifted  the  lunatic  up 
in  my  arms  and  strained  every  muscle  to  pull 
him  away,  his  fingers  never  relaxed  till  I  stopped 
his  breath  and  rendered  him  momentarily  uncon- 
scious. 

I  waited  for  Mr.  Marx  to  come  to  himself,  my 
foot  resting  lightly  upon  the  prostrate  body  of  his 
assailant.  Soon  he  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and 
began  groping  about  in  the  road. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Lost  any- 
thing ?  " 

"  My  revolver." 

I  pointed  to  where  it  lay  gleaming  in  the 
moonlight.  He  picked  it  up  and  set  it  to  an 
undischarged  barrel.  I  watched  him  curiously. 

;'  You  won't  want  that  again,"  I  remarked. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  put  that  beast  out  of 
his  misery,"  he  answered.  "  Stand  out  of  the 
way  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  You  will  do  nothing  of  the 
sort !  "  I  cried  hotly.  "  What !  kill  an  insen- 
sible man  ?  He  has  as  much  right  to  live  as 
you.  You  shall  not  commit  murder  in  my 
presence  ;  and,  least  of  all,  shall  you  kill  a 
poor  insane  creature  like  this.  Put  that  thing 
up!" 

An  awful  look  flashed  into  his  face,  and,  as  he 
suddenly  raised  his  arm,  I  looked  into  the  dark 
muzzle  of  his  revolver. 

With  a  quick  spring  I  wrenched  the  revolver 
from  his  hand,  and,  bending  backwards,  threw  it 
far  away  into  the  bracken. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  were  going  to  do,  Mr. 
Marx,"  I  said,  looking  at  him  steadily,  "  but  it 


FOR  LIFE.  133 

seems   to  me   that  you   are   not  a  fit  person  to 
be  trusted  with  firearms." 

He  stood  still,  speechless  with  rage.  I  turned 
my  back  upon  him  and  found,  to  my  surprise, 
that  the  man  whose  life  Mr.  Marx  had  so  much 
desired  was  lying  on  his  side,  looking  at  me  with 
wide-open  eyes. 

"  Well,  have  your  own  way,"  Mr.  Marx  said, 
quietly  ;  "  I  dare  say  you  are  right.  There  was 
no  need  to  be  violent,  or  to  throw  away  my  favourite 
revolver.  What  do  you  propose  to  do  with 
him  ?  " 

Mr.  Marx  advanced,  but  at  the  sight  of  him 
the  lunatic,  who  was  leaning  heavily  upon  my 
arm,  and  groaning  with  pain,  shrank  down  upon 
the  ground,  cowering  at  my  feet  like  a  dog.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  broke  into  one 
of  the  most  pitiful  cries  of  distress  that  I  have 
ever  heard  from  human  lips.  I  motioned  Mr. 
Marx  back. 

"  I  can  manage  him  alone,  I  think  ;  and  the 
sight  of  you  upsets  him.  Will  you  follow  us 
down  ?  " 

Mr.  Marx  advanced  a  step  or  two,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing with  anger.  Then  suddenly  he  turned  his  back 
upon  us,  and,  without  a  word,  walked  rapidly 
away.  I  raised  my  prisoner,  and  half  carried,  half 
dragged  him  back  to  the  farm. 

In  a  few  hours  the  doctor  from  Rothland  had 
arrived  and  speedily  set  the  broken  bones.  He 
seemed  much  interested  in  the  case  and  made  a 
careful  examination. 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  been  a  lunatic  long  ?  " 
I  asked. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  replied,  "I  should 
say  his  madness  has  come  on  quite  recently — 
the  effect  of  some  severe  shock  probably.  If  he 


134  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

is  treated  properly  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  will 
regain  his  reason." 

In  a  few  days  the  lunatic  was  pronounced  well 
enough  in  health  to  be  moved  ;  and  as  all  inquiries 
and  advertisements  about  him  proved  fruitless, 
he  was  consigned  to  the  county  asylum  at  Tor- 
Chester, 


CHAPTER   XXIII, 

MY  GUARDIAN. 

ON  the  third  day  after  my  adventure  in  the  park 
Mr.  Ravenor  called  to  see  me.  He  came  in  splashed 
from  head  to  foot  and  had  evidently  ridden  a  long 
distance  and  fast.  I  offered  him  a  chair  and  some 
refreshment,  for  he  looked  pale  and  tired,  but  he 
declined  both,  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down 
the  room,  his  hands  grasping  a  long  riding- whip 
behind  his  back. 

"  I  can  only  give  you  a  minute  or  two  now, 
Morton,"  he  said,  with  some  slight  return  of  his 
former  brusque  hauteur  ;  "I  am  expecting  visitors 
from  London  to-night  and  must  get  back  to  receive 
them.  But  there  is  something  I  must  say  to  you. 
You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  your  mother 
has  left  you  a  considerable  property  ?  " 

I  was  very  much  surprised. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  of  this,  Mr.  Ravenor  ?  " 
I  ventured  to  ask.  "  My  mother  always  spoke 
to  me  as  though  we  were  poor." 

"  I  do  not  make  mistakes,"  he  answered,  pausing 
in  his  walk  and  looking  down  upon  me  from  his 
great  height  with  knitted  brows  and  piercing  eyes, 
"  least  of  all  in  matters  of  such  importance.  How 
much  the  exact  sum  will  amount  to  I  cannot  tell 
yet,  but  it  is  more  than  twenty  thousand  pounds,  so 
you  will  be  able  to  choose  your  own  profession. 


136  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET; 

What  will  it  be,  I  wonder — the  Bar,  the  Army, 
the  Church,  agriculture  ?  Come,  you  are  a  boy 
of  imagination  and  have  never  been  in  love.  You 
must  have  had  day-dreams  of  some  sort.  Whither 
have  they  led  you  ?  " 

"  Not  to  any  of  the  professions  which  you  have 
mentioned,"  I  answered  promptly. 

"  Then  where  ?  Tell  me.  I  am  curious  to 
know." 

"  My  ideas  have  always  been  very  vague,"  I 
said  slowly.  "  I  should  like  to  live  quite  away 
from  any  town,  to  read  a  good  deal,  and  to  spend 
the  rest  of  my  time  out  of  doors  ;  and  then,  perhaps, 
after  a  time,  I  might  try  to  think  something  out 
and  put  it  into  words." 

"  In  short,  you  would  like  to  be  an  author," 
Mr.  Ravenor  broke  in,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  should  not  want  to  write  to  amuse 
people,  or  to  become  famous,"  I  went  on,  en- 
couraged by  Mr.  Ravenor's  gravity.  "  I  should 
like  to  make  people  think.  I  should  like  to  make 
them  turn  aside  from  the  groove  of  their  daily  life 
and  realise  that  the  world  is  full  of  greater  and 
higher  things  than  mere  material  prosperity.  Men 
seem  to  me  to  find  their  daily  work  and  pleasure 
too  absorbing.  They  think  of  themselves  and  others 
only  as  individuals,  never  as  limbs  of  a  great 
common  humanity  with  a  mighty  destiny.  The 
world  grows  narrower  and  narrower  for  them  as 
they  grow  older,  instead  of  broader  and  broader.  It 
is  because  they  neglect  the  use  of  their  imagination 
— at  least,  so  it  seems  to  me." 

"  Have  you  read  Hibbet's  little  pamphlets  ?  " 
Mr.  Ravenor  asked. 

"Both  of  them,"  I  answered.  "I  like  his 
ideas." 

"  Have  your  clothes  come  from  Torchester  ?  " 
he  inquired,  with  apparent  irrelevance. 


MY    GUARDIAN.  137 

"  Yes  ;  they  came  last  week,"  I  told  him,  won- 
dering. 

"  Very  well ;  put  on  your  dress-suit  and  come 
up  to  the  Castle  at  eight  o'clock  to-night.  You 
shall  dine  with  me  and  meet  Hibbet." 

Meet  Sir  Richard  Hibbet !  Dine  at  the  same 
table  !  My  cheeks  flushed  and  my  heart  beat  fast. 
Life  was  opening  out  for  me. 

"  Yes  ;  he  and  Marris  and  Williams,  the  pub- 
lisher, you  know,  are  all  staying  at  the  Castle. 
There  will  be  some  more  of  them  down  to-night. 
Don't  be  late.  I  will  find  time,  if  I  can,  to  have 
some  talk  with  you,  for  I  want  you  to  go  to  Dr. 
Randall's  next  week." 

He  nodded  and  took  his  departure.  I  watched 
him  mount  his  horse  and  gallop  away  across  the 
open  park.  Then  I  started  for  a  solitary  walk, 
to  ponder  my  altered  prospects. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

MY    FIRST    DINNER     PARTY. 

AT  a  quarter  to  eight  I  stood  in  the  great  hall  ol 
Ravenor  Castle.  On  my  first  visit  its  vastness 
and  gloom  had  somewhat  chilled  me  ;  now  it  was 
altogether  different.  A  small  army  of  servants 
in  picturesque  livery  and  with  powdered  hair 
were  moving  noiselessly  about.  Soft  lights  were 
burning  on  many  brackets,  dispelling  the  deep 
shades  which  had  hung  somewhat  drearily  about ; 
and  there  was  a  fragrant  perfume  of  flowers  and 
a  pleasant  sense  of  warmth  in  the  air.  I  began 
to  understand  at  once  the  stories  I  had  heard  of  the 
luxury  and  magnificence  with  which  Mr.  Ravenor 
entertained  his  guests  on  the  rare  occasions  when 
he  threw  open  his  doors. 

Mr.  Ravenor  was  in  his  private  rooms,  I  was 
told,  and  his  own  groom  of  the  chambers,  who  had 
been  summoned  to  take  my  name,  ushered  me, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  into  the  library.  I 
walked  to  the  fire,  for  I  was  cold,  probably  through 
being  unused  to  wearing  such  thin  clothes  ;  and, 
standing  there  with  my  hands  behind  my  back, 
looked  around  with  a  feeling  almost  of  awe  at  the 
vast  collection  of  books  with  which  I  was  sur- 
rounded. 

"  And  who  are  you,  please  ?  " 
138 


MY  FIRST  DINNER  PARTY.  139 

I  started  and  looked  in  the  direction  from  which 
the  voice — a  sweet,  childish  treble — came.  Seated 
demurely  in  the  centre  of  a  large  armchair,  with 
tumbled  hair,  and  a  book  upon  her  lap,  was  a  very 
young  lady.  Her  clear  blue  eyes  were  fixed  calmly 
but  inquiringly  upon  me,  as  though  expecting  an 
immediate  answer,  and  there  was  a  slight  frown  upon 
her  forehead.  Altogether,  for  such  a  diminutive 
maiden,  she  appeared  rather  formidable. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  there,"  I  said, 
in  explanation  of  my  start.  "  My  name  is  Morton 
—Philip  Morton." 

She  looked  me  over  gravely  and  critically,  and 
succeeded  in  making  me  feel  uncomfortable. 
Apparently,  however,  the  examination  ended  in 
my  favour,  for  the  frown  disappeared  and  she  closed 
her  book. 

"  Philip  is  pretty,"  she  said  condescendingly. 
"  I  don't  think  much  of  Morton.  I  rather  like 
Philip,  though." 

"  I — I'm  glad  of  that,"  I  answered  lamely. 
It  was  very  ridiculous,  but  I  could  think  of  nothing 
else  to  say.  I  wanted  to  say  something  brilliant, 
but  it  wouldn't  come  ;  so  I  stood  still  and  looked 
at  her  and  got  rather  red  in  the  face. 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea,"  I  admitted. 

She  leaned  her  small,  delicate  head  upon  her 
hand  and  began  swaying  her  feet  slowly  back- 
wards and  forwards. 

"  I  am  Lady  Beatrice  Cecilia — my  mother  is  Lady 
Silchester,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  think  it  is  a  pretty 
name  ?  " 

"  Very,"  I  answered,  biting  my  lip ;  "  much 
prettier  than  mine." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  think  you  are  a  nice  boy !  " 
she  proceeded.  "  I  rather  like  you." 

"  I'm  so  glad !  "  I  answered,  feeling  unreasonably 


140  MK.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

delighted.  "  I'm  sure  that  I  like  you,"  I  added 
fervently. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you  to  say  so,  when  you've 
only  just  seen  me,"  she  remarked ;  "  but  you 
can't  be  quite  sure.  You  don't  know  anything 
about  me,  you  see.  I  might  be  dreadfully  dis- 
agreeable." 

"  But  I'm  sure  you're  not,"  I  answered,  feeling 
that  I  was  getting  on. 

She  was  good  enough  to  seem  pleased  at  my 
confidence  ;  but  she  made  no  further  remark  for 
a  minute  or  two,  during  which  I  racked  my  brains 
in  vain  for  some  effective  remark,  with  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  her.  She  certainly  made  a  very  charm- 
ing picture,  curled  up  in  the  great  black  oak  chair, 
with  the  firelight  playing  upon  her  ruddy  golden 
hair  and  glistening  in  her  bright  eyes. 

"  You've  been  reading,  haven't  you  ?  "  I  asked, 
pointing  to  the  book  which  lay  in  her  lap. 

"  It's  not  a  nice  book  at  all !  "  she  said  decidedly. 
"  I  don't  like  any  of  the  books  here.  Oh  !  " 

I  turned  round  quickly,  for  I  saw  that  she  was 
looking  behind  me.  Standing  on  the  threshold  of 
his  inner  room  was  the  tall,  dark  figure  of  Mr. 
Ravenor,  handsomer  than  ever,  it  seemed  to  me, 
in  his  plain  evening  dress. 

Slowly  he  advanced  out  of  the  shadows,  with  a 
faint  smile  upon  his  pale  face,  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  looking  first  at  my  little  hostess 
and  then  at  me. 

"  So  you've  been  entertaining  one  of  my  guests 
for  me,  Trixie,  have  you  ? "  he  said.  "  Rather 
late  for  you  to  be  up,  isn't  it  ?  Your  nurse  has 
been  looking  for  you  everywhere." 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  Lady  Beatrice 
Cecilia  remarked  deliberately.  She  rose,  shook  her 
hair  out,  and,  replacing  the  book  which  she  had  been 
reading  upon  the  shelf,  prepared  to  depart.  But 


MY  FIRST  DINNER  PARTY;  141 

first  she  came  up  to  where  I  was  standing  on  the 
hearthrug  and  held  out  her  little  white  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Philip  Morton,"  she  said,  looking 
up  at  me  with  a  grave  smile.  "  I  am  very  glad 
that  you  came  in  here  to  talk  to  me.  I  was  so 
dull." 

I  made  some  reciprocative  speech,  which,  if  it 
was  somewhat  awkwardly  expressed,  had  at  least 
the  merit  of  earnestness,  and  my  eyes'  followed 
her  admiringly  as  she  walked  to  the  door  and  dis- 
appeared with  a  backward  glance  and  a  smile. 
Then  I  started  and  coloured,  to  find  that  Mr.  Rave- 
nor  was  watching  me. 

"  I  don't  know  why  they  should  have  brought 
you  here,"  he  said.  "  Come  this  way." 

I  followed  Mr.  Ravenor  across  the  hall  into  a 
suite  of  rooms  hung  with  satin,  opening  out  one 
from  another,  and  seeming  to  my  inexperience 
like  a  succession  of  brilliantly-lit  fairy  chambers. 
In  the  smallest  and  most  remote  room  three  men 
were  standing  talking  together,  and  in  a  low  chair 
by  their  side  reclined  Lady  Silchester,  holding  a 
dainty  screen  of  peacock  feathers  between  her  face 
and  the  fire,  and  listening  to  the  conversation  with 
a  slightly  bored  air.  She  was  in  full  evening 
toilette,  and  several  rows  of  diamonds  flashed 
and  sparkled  with  every  rise  and  fall  of  her  snow- 
white  throat.  Afterwards  I  grew  to  look  upon 
Lady  Silchester  as  a  good  type  of  the  well-bred 
society  woman  ;  but  then  she  was  a  revelation  to 
me — the  revelation  of  a  new  species. 

My  appearance  seemed  at  first  to  surprise 
and  then  slightly  to  discompose  her,  but  both 
emotions  passed  away  at  once  and  she  welcomed 
me  with  a  charming  little  smile  as  she  languidly 
raised  her  hand  and  placed  it  within  mine  for  a 
moment. 

At  our  entrance  the  conversation  ceased  for  a 


142  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

moment.  Mr.  Ravenor  laid  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder  and  turned  towards  the  little  group. 

"  Sir  Richard,  let  me  introduce  to  you  a  young 
ward  of  mine  and  a  disciple  of  yours.  Sir  Richard 
Hibbet  —  Mr.  Morton  ;  Professor  Marris  —  Mr. 
Morton  ;  Mr.  Later — Mr.  Morton." 

They  all  shook  hands  with  me,  and,  widening 
their  circle  a  little,  continued  the  conversation. 

This  was  interrupted  presently  by  the  announce- 
ment of  dinner,  the  Professor  taking  in  our  hostess, 
the  others  following,  Mr.  Ravenor  and  I  bringing 
up  the  rear. 

There  was  no  lack  of  conversation  during  dinner, 
1  hough  gradually  it  turned  towards  purely  literary 
matters  and  remained  there.  To  me  it  was  al- 
together fascinating,  although  it  was  often  beyond 
my  comprehension. 

Long  after  Lady  Silchester  had  departed  we  sat 
round  the  small  table  glittering  with  plate  and 
finely-cut  glass,  and  loaded  with  choice  flowers 
and  wonderful  fruits  ;  and  my  senses  were  almost 
dazed  by  the  brilliancy  of  my  material  surround- 
ings, and  the  ever-flowing  conversation,  which 
seemed  always  to  be  teaching  me  something  new 
and  opening  up  fresh  fields  of  thought.  At  times 
I  scarcely  knew  which  most  to  admire — the  dry, 
pungent  wit  and  caustic  remarks  of  the  Professor ;  the 
perfectly  expressed,  classical  English  of  Mr.  Later ; 
the  sound,  good  sense  of  Sir  Richard,  seasoned 
with  an  apparently  inexhaustible  stock  of  anecdotes 
and  quotations  culled  from  all  imaginable  sources  ; 
or  the  brilliant  epigrams,  the  trenchant  criticisms, 
and  the  occasional  flashes  of  genuine  eloquence  by 
means  of  which  Mr.  Ravenor,  with  rare  art,  con- 
tinually stimulated  the  talk. 

Almost  unnoticed,  Mr.  Marx,  still  in  his  morning 
coat,  with  pale  face  and  dark  rims  under  his  eyes, 
had  entered  and  sank  wearily  into  a  seat ;  but, 


MY  FIRST  DINNER  PARTY,          143 

although  he  listened  with  apparent  interest,  he 
took  no  part  in  the  war  of  words  which  was  flashing 
around  him.  Suddenly  it  all  came  to  an  end. 
Mr.  Ravenor  glanced  at  his  watch  and  rose. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  ex- 
cuse me  for  an  hour.  If  you  care  to  see  the  library, 
Mr.  Marx  will  show  it  you,  or  the  smoking-room 
and  billiard-room  are  at  your  service.  Or  if  you 
care  to  remain  here  there  is  plenty  more  of  the 
yellow-seal  claret  and  the  cigars  are  upon  the 
table.  Philip,  I  want  you." 

I  rose  and  followed  him  towards  the  door.  As 
I  did  so  I  had  to  pass  Mr.  Marx,  who  had  left  his 
seat  on  some  pretext.  He  leaned  over  towards 
me,  haggard  and  pale,  and  pushed  a  slip  of  paper 
into  my  fingers. 

"  Read  it  at  once,"  he  muttered,  in  a  quick, 
low  tone.  Then  he  moved  up  and  took  Mr.  Ra- 
venor's  place  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

I  felt  inclined  to  throw  it  back  to  him  ;  but  I 
did  not.  Passing  across  the  hall,  I  unfolded  it 
and  read  these  few  words,  scrawled  in  a  large, 
shaking  hand  : 

"  You  must  not  go  to  Dr.  Randall's.  Mr.  Ra- 
venor will  give  you  a  choice.  Go  anywhere  but 
there.  If  you  neglect  this  warning  you  will  repent 
it  all  your  life.  I  swear  it.  Tear  this  up." 


CHAPTER   XXVj 

MR.     MARX'S     WARNINGS 

MY  first  impulse,  on  glancing  through  Mr.  Marx's 
brief  note,  was  to  show  it  to  Mr.  Ravenor  ;  but, 
after  a  second's  consideration,  I  changed  my  mind. 
Mr.  Marx  was  a  complete  mystery  to  me.  At 
times  it  seemed  possible  that  the  interest  which 
he  undoubtedly  showed  in  me  was  genuine  and 
kindly,  and  I  struggled  against  my  dislike  of  the 
man.  Then  I  remembered  his  brutal  conduct  to 
the  lunatic  and  the  other  inexplicable  parts  of  his 
behaviour,  and  the  darkest  suspicions  and  doubts 
began  to  take  shape  in  my  imagination. 

There  was  something  altogether  mysterious  about 
him — his  connection  with  Mr.  Ravenor  and  his 
manner  towards  myself.  I  was  puzzled  and  more 
than  half  inclined  to  decide  against  the  man  whom 
personally  I  had  grown  to  detest.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  was  young  and  still  an  optimist  with 
regard  to  my  fellow-men. 

What  harm  had  I  done  Mr.  Marx,  and  why  should 
he  seek  to  injure  me  ?  It  seemed  improbable, 
almost  ridiculous.  So  in  the  end  a  certain  sense 
of  fairness  induced  me  to  respect  his  postscript, 
and  I  said  nothing  to  Mr.  Ravenor  about  his  secre- 
tary's warning. 

My  interview  with  him  was  a  very  short  one 
indeed.  He  led  the  way  into  the  study  in  which 


MR.  MARX'S  WARNING.  145 

I  had  first  seen  him  and,  closing  the  door,  turned 
round  and  faced  me  upon  the  hearthrug.  The 
room  was  dimly  lit,  but  where  he  stood  the  fast- 
dying  fire  cast  a  faint  glow  around  his  tall,  straight 
figure,  and  showed  me  a  face  cold  and  resolute  as 
marble,  but  not  unkind. 

"  Philip  Morton,"  he  said  slowly,  "  it  has  occurred 
to  me  that  in  wishing  you  to  go  to  Lincolnshire, 
I  may  have  been  influenced  to  a  certain  extent 
by  selfish  considerations.  If  you  have  the  slightest 
preference  for  a  public  school " 

I  knew  instinctively  whence  that  idea  had  come 
and  I  interrupted  him. 

"  Nothing  should  induce  me  to  go  anywhere 
else  but  to  Dr.  Randall's  !  "  I  exclaimed  firmly. 

"  In  that  case,"  he  continued,  "  I  wish  you  to 
leave  to-morrow.  You  will  be  ready  ?  " 

I  assented  at  once. 

"  I,  too,  am  leaving  here — it  may  be  for  a  very 
long  while,"  he  went  on.  "  In  two  months'  time 
I  hope  to  start  for  Persia,  and  between  now  and 
then  my  movements  will  be  uncertain.  I  cannot 
settle  down  here.  It  is  useless." 

A  great  weariness  shone  out  of  his  dark  blue 
eyes  and  he  stifled  a  sigh.  Some  thought  or 
memory  coloured  with  regret  had  flashed  across 
his  mind  ;  but  what  it  was  I  could  not  tell. 

"  You  reme^iber  your  mother's  letter  to  you 
and  her  dying  request  ?  "  he  continued,  in  a  changed 
tone.  "  I  cannot  explain  it  now,  although  I  must 
remind  you  of  it.  This  packet " — and  he  passed 
me  a  large,  sealed  envelope — "  contains  a  cheque- 
book, the  address  of  the  lawyer  who  will  manage 
your  affairs,  and  a  letter  which  you  will  not  open 
unless  you  have  certain  news  and  proof  of  my 
death.  You  will  find  that  you  are,  comparatively 
speaking,  rich.  How  this  comes  about  I  cannot 
tell  you  now,  and  you  must  remember  your  mother's 

K 


146  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

dying  injunction  not  to  seek  to  find  out  until  the 
time  comes,  when  you  will  know  everything.  At 
present,  I  can  only  assure  you  that  the  money 
is  yours  by  right,  that  it  is  not  a  gift,  and  that  no 
one  else  has  any  claim  to  it.  That  is  all  I  can  say 
upon  the  subject.  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

Curiosity  seemed  a  mean  thing  to  me  as  I  lis- 
tened to  my  guardian's  words  and  looked  into 
his  sad,  stern  face.  All  the  old  fascination  which 
I  had  felt  from  the  first  in  his  presence  was  strong 
upon  me  that  night.  Whatever  he  had  bidden 
me  to  do  I  should  have  done  it.  And  so  I  answered  : 

"  I  am  satisfied.  What  you  tell  me  is  mine  I 
will  take  and  ask  no  questions." 

"  That  is  well,"  he  said  quietly.  "  And  now, 
one  word  about  your  future,  Philip,  for  to-morrow 
you  will  take  up  some  of  the  responsibilities  of 
early  manhood.  A  great  man  once  said  that  the 
best  adviser  of  ^  youth  was  the  man  whose  own  life 
had  been  a  failure.  If  this  be  anything  more  than 
a  paradox,  then  there  can  be  no  one  better  fitted 
for  that  post  than  I.  Already  the  flavour  of  life 
has  become  like  dead  ashes  between  my  teeth ; 
and  the  fault  is  my  own.  Mr.  Marris  was  talking 
a  great  deal  of  nonsense  in  the  drawing-room  before 
dinner  this  evening.  I  want  to  say  just  one  or 
two  words  to  you  on  the  same  subject,  and  re- 
member that  I  speak  as  an  outsider,  impersonally. 

"  Before  I  was  twenty-one  years  old,  I  had 
studied  in  most  of  the  schools  of  modern  philosophy, 
and  had  thrown  off  my  religion  like  an  old  rag. 
I  was  inflated  with  a  sense  of  my  own  intellectual 
superiority  over  other  men.  It  was  philosophy 
which  taught  men  to  live,  I  declared,  and  philosophy 
which  taught  them  to  die.  With  that  motto  before 
me,  I  carefully  set  myself  to  annihilate  every  vestige 
of  faith  with  which  I  had  ever  been  endowed.  I 
succeeded — too  well.  It  is  dead ;  and  sometimes 


MR.  MARX'S  WARNING.  147 

I  fear  that  it  will  never  reawaken.  And  what  am 
I  ?  As  miserable  a  man  as  ever  drew  breath  upon 
this  earth.  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I  had  crushed 
a  part  of  my  very  life  and  the  sore  will  rankle  for 
ever. 

"  There  is  a  part  of  man's  nature,  Philip — that 
is  to  say,  of  such  men  as  I  have  been  and  you  will 
be — the  sympathetic,  emotional,  reverential  part, 
which  cries  out  for  some  belief  in  a  higher,  an  in- 
finite Power,  for  some  sort  of  religion  which  it  can 
cling  to  and  entwine  with  every  action  of  daily 
life.  You  must  satisfy  that  craving  if  you  desire 
to  know  happiness.  For  me  there  is  no  such  know- 
ledge. I  have  deliberately  committed  spiritual 
suicide  ;  I  have  torn  up  faith  by  the  roots  and 
have  made  a  void  in  my  heart,  which  nothing  else 
can  ever  fill.  Frankly,  I  tell  you,  Philip,  that 
there  are  times  when  religion  of  any  sort  seems 
to  me  no  better  than  a  fairy-tale.  It  need  not 
seem  so  to  you.  Shape  out  for  yourself  any  form 
of  belief — that  of  the  Christian  is  as  good  as  any 
other — and  resolutely  cling  to  it.  It  is  my  advice 
to  you — mine  who  believe  in  no  God  and  no  future 
state.  Follow  it  and  farewell !  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  clasped  mine  for  a 
moment.  I  would  have  spoken,  but  before  I  could 
find  words  he  had  disappeared  through  a  curtained 
door  into  his  inner  apartment.  So  I  turned  away 
and  went. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

A     LOST     PHOTOGRAPH, 

IT  was  about  five  o'clock  on  as  dreary  an  afternoon 
as  I  ever  remember,  when  the  slow  train,  which 
crawls  always  at  a  most  miserable  pace  from  Peter- 
borough across  the  eastern  counties,  deposited 
me  at  Little  Drayton.  Besides  the  station-master 
there  were  but  two  people  on  the  wet  platform — 
one  a  porter,  who  made  for  my  bags  with  almost 
wolflike  alacrity  after  a  moment's  amazed  stare 
at  me,  presumably  at  the  rare  advent  of  a  passenger 
with  luggage  ;  the  other  was  a  thin,  dark  young 
man,  clad  in  a  light  mackintosh  with  very  large 
checks,  and  smoking  a  long  cigar.  Whilst  I  was 
collecting  my  things  he  came  leisurely  up  and 
accosted  me. 

"  Your  name  Morton  ?  *'  he  inquired,  without 
removing  his  cigar  from  his  teeth. 

I  assented. 

"  Have  you  come  down  to  meet  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes ;  old  Randall's  gone  out  to  dinner,  so  he 
asked  Cis  and  me  to  come  and  fetch  you.  Cart's 
outside ;  but  we  can't  take  all  the  luggage.  Just 
look  out  what  you  want,  will  you,  and  we'll  send 
for  the  rest  to-morrow." 

I  selected  a  portmanteau  and  followed  him  out 
of  the  station.  A  light,  four-wheeled  brown 
cart  was  waiting,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  small, 

148 


A  LOST  PHOTOGRAPH.  149 

clever-looking  cobs,  altogether  a  very  smart  turn- 
out. 

"  Pitch  that  bag  in  behind,  porter,"  ordered  my 
new  acquaintance.  "  Now,  then,  Mr.  Morton,  if 
you're  ready  we'll  be  off.  Your  train's  half  an 
hour  late,  and  Cis  will  be  wondering  what's  become 
of  us." 

"  Is  Cis  Mr.  Ravenor's  nephew,  Silchester  ?  "  I 
asked,  as  I  clambered  up  beside  him. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  By  the  bye,  I  ought  to  have  intro- 
duced myself,  oughtn't  I  ?  My  name  is  De  Car- 
tienne — Leonard  De  Cartienne." 

"  And  are  you  Dr.  Randall's  other  pupil  ?  "  I 
inquired. 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  doing  a  grind  there.  Beastly  slow 
it  is,  too.  You'll  be  sorry  you've  come,  I  can  tell 
you,  before  very  long." 

Looking  around  me,  I  was  inclined  to  think  that 
that  was  not  improbable.  It  was  too  dark  to  see 
far,  but  what  I  could  see  was  anything  but  pro- 
mising. The  country  was  perfectly  flat,  dreary, 
and  barren,  and  the  view  was  unbroken  by  tree, 
or  hedge,  or  hill.  By  the  side  of  the  road  was  a 
small  canal,  over  the  sullen  waters  of  which,  and 
across  the  road,  brooded  spectral-like  clouds  of  mist. 
The  rain  still  fell  rapidly,  and  the  wheels  of  our 
cart  ran  noiselessly  in  the  sandy,  paste-like  mud. 

*'  Ghastly  night,  isn't  it  ?  "  remarked  my  com- 
panion, breaking  the  silence  again. 

**  Rather  !  "  I  assented  vigorously.  *'  What  a 
flat,  ugly  country,  too !  I  never  saw  anything 
like  it." 

"  Beastly  country  !  beastly  place  altogether  !  " 
De  Cartienne  agreed.  "  I'm  jolly  sick  of  it,  I  can 
tell  you  !  Steady,  Brandy  !  steady,  sir  !  "  giving 
the  near  animal  a  cut  with  the  whip. 

"  What  do  you  call  your  horses  ? "  I  asked 
curiously. 


150  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

"  Brandy  and  Soda.  Jolly  neat  name  for  a  pair. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Uncommon,  at  any  rate,'*  I  answered  am- 
biguously. "  Didn't  you  say  that  we  were  to  call 
for  Silchester  somewhere  ?  " 

"  Mean  Cis  ?  Oh,  yes ;  we've  got  to  pick  him 
up  at  the  Rose  and  Crown." 

"  A  hotel  ?  " 

"  Well,  hardly.  Fact  is,"  De  Cartienne  con- 
tinued, dropping  his  voice  a  little,  and  glancing 
behind  to  see  whether  the  groom  was  listening — 
"  fact  is,  Cis  is  a  bit  inclined  to  make  a  fool  of 
himself.  There's  a  pretty  girl  at  this  place  and 
he  puts  in  an  uncommon  lot  of  time  there.  Awfully 
pretty  girl  she  is,  really,"  he  added  confidentially. 
"  Won't  stand  any  nonsense,  either.  The  place 
is  only  a  pub.,  after  ah1,  but  everyone  who  goes 
there  has  to  behave  himself.  She  won't  have  a 
lot  of  fellows  dangling  about  after  her,  though  she 
might  have  the  whole  town  if  she  liked.  Makes 
her  all  the  more  dangerous,  I  think." 

"  And  Lord  Silchester " 

"  Hang  the  '  lord  '  1  "  interrupted  my  companion, 
whipping  his  horses. 

"  Well,  Silchester,  then  I  I  suppose  he  admires 
her  very  much  ?  " 

"  Admires  her  !  I  should  think  he  does  !  He's 
awful  spoons  on  her  !  It's  quite  sickening  the  way 
they  go  on  sometimes.  There's  a  regular  stew  on 
there  to-night,  though,  tremendous  scene." 

"  What  about  ?  " 

"Well,  it  seems  that  Milly's  father— he's  the 
landlord  of  the  place,  you  know — left  home  about 
a  month  ago,  saying  he  was  going  up  to  London 
on  some  business.  He  was  expected  back  in  a 
fortnight  or  three  weeks ;  but  he's  never  turned 
up  and  he  hasn't  written.  So  at  last  Milly  sent 
up  to  the  place  where  he  always  stops  in  town 


A  LOST  PHOTOGRAPH.  151 

and  also  to  some  friends  whom  he  was  going  to 
see.  This  morning  a  reply  comes  from  both  of 
them.  Nothing  has  been  seen  or  heard  of  him  at 
all.  Of  course,  Milly  imagines  the  worst  at  once, 
goes  off  into  hysterics,  and,  when  we  called  this 
evening  on  our  way  down,  was  half  out  of  her 
mind." 

"  And  so  Silchester  stopped  with  her  to  console 
her  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  assented  De  Cartienne,  with  a  queer 
smile.  "  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  succeeded, 
either  !  " 

We  entered  the  street  of  an  old-fashioned,  strag- 
gling town,  the  glimmering  lights  of  which  had 
been  in  sight  for  some  time.  De  Cartienne,  sitting 
forward  a  little,  devoted  his  whole  attention  to 
the  horses,  for  the  stones  were  wet  and  slippery, 
and  Brandy  seemed  to  shy  at  everything  and  any- 
thing which  presented  itself,  from  the  little  pools 
of  water  glistening  in  the  lamplight,  which  lay  in 
the  hollows  of  the  road,  down  to  his  own  shadow. 
I  looked  round  curiously.  The  old-fashioned 
market-place,  the  quaintly  built  houses,  the  dimly 
lit  shops,  and  little  knots  of  gaping  rustics,  whom 
our  rapid  approach  scattered  right  and  left,  were, 
at  any  rate,  more  interesting  and  pleasanter  to 
look  upon  than  the  damp,  miserable  country  out- 
side. Suddenly  we  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  outside 
a  small,  but  clean-looking  inn,  and  the  groom 
leaped  down  from  behind  and  made  his  way  to 
the  horses'  heads. 

"  Take  them  up  the  street  a  little,  John,"  said 
De  Cartienne,  as  he  descended.  "  No  need  to 
advertise  Cis's  folly  to  the  whole  town,"  he  added, 
in  a  lower  tone.  "  Come  on,  Morton,  we'll  go  and 
rout  him  out." 

I  stepped  across  the  wet  pavement  after  him 
and,  stooping  low  down,  crossed  the  threshold  of 


152  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

the  "  Rose  and  Crown."  We  passed  by  a  room  in 
which  several  labouring  men  were  drinking  mugs 
of  beer,  and  entered  the  bar,  in  which  a  rosy-cheeked 
country  damsel  was  exchanging  noisy  and  not  too 
choice  badinage  with  one  or  two  young  men  who 
hung  about  her.  From  here  another  door  led  into 
an  inner  room  and  at  this  De  Cartienne  somewhat 
ostentatiously  knocked.  There  was  a  second's 
pause ;  then  a  clear,  pleasant  voice  sang  out 
"  Come  in  !  "  and  we  entered. 

It  was  a  small,  cosy  room,  not  ill-furnished, 
and  with  a  cheerful  fire  burning  in  the  grate.  Lean- 
ing against  the  mantelpiece,  with  his  face  towards 
us,  was  Cis,  whose  likeness  to  Lady  Beatrice  was 
so  remarkable  that  I  liked  him  heartily  before 
we  had  exchanged  a  word.  Standing  by  his  side, 
with  her  head  suspiciously  near  his  shoulder,  was 
a  very  fair  girl,  with  nice  figure  and  complexion 
and  large  blue  eyes.  Her  face  was  certainly  pretty, 
but  it  was  not  of  a  very  high  type  of  prettiness. 
The  features,  although  regular  of  their  sort,  were 
not  in  any  way  refined  or  spirituelle,  nor  was  there 
anything  in  her  expression  to  redeem  her  from  the 
mediocrity  of  good  looks. 

Still,  she  was  undoubtedly  a  nice-looking  girl, 
quite  pretty  enough  to  be  the  belle  of  a  country 
place,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  was  rather  relieved  to 
iind  her  attractions  of  so  ordinary  a  kind.  There 
could  scarcely  be  anything  dangerous,  I  thought, 
in  this  good-humoured  doll's  face ;  she  did  not 
appear  to  have  the  daring  or  character  to  lead 
her  boyish  admirer  over  the  borders  of  a  spooning 
sentimentality.  At  any  rate,  that  was  not  written 
in  her  face.  A  blunt  physiognomist  would  probably 
have  declared  that  there  was  not  enough  of  the 
devil  in  her  to  fire  the  blood  even  of  an  impetuous, 
generous  boy  and  urge  him  on  to  recklessness.  It 
seemed  so  to  me  and  I  was  glad  of  it. 


A  LOST  PHOTOGRAPH.  153 

Just  at  present  there  were  traces  of  tears  in 
her  face  and  a  generally  woe-begone  expression. 
Her  companion,  too,  looked  upset  and  sympathetic ; 
but  he  glanced  up  with  a  bright  smile  when  we 
entered. 

"  You're  Philip  Morton,  I  suppose  ? "  he  ex- 
claimed, holding  out  his  hand.  "  Glad  to  see 
you  !  Heard  of  you  from  my  uncle,  you  know  !  " 

I  shook  hands  with  him  and  he  introduced  me 
formally  to  the  young  woman  at  his  side,  calling 
her  Miss  Hart.  Then  he  turned  to  me  again. 

"  I  quite  meant  to  have  been  at  the  station  to 
meet  you,"  he  said ;  "  but  we  called  here  first 
and  I — I  was  detained." 

"  It's  of  no  consequence  at  all,"  I  assured  him. 
"  Mr.  De  Cartienne  was  there." 

"  And  Mr.  De  Cartienne  having  had  to  wait 
half  an  hour  in  the  rain  at  that  infernal  old  shed 
they  call  a  station,  requires  a  little  refreshment," 
chimed  in  the  person  named.  "  Will  the  fair 
Millicent  condescend,  or  shall  I  ring  ?  " 

She  rose  and,  crossing  the  room,  opened  the 
door  into  the  bar. 

"  Brandy-and-soda  for  me,"  ordered  De  Carti- 
enne. "  Cis  is  drinking  whisky,  I  see,  so  he'll  have 
another  one,  and  we'll  have  a  large  bottle  of 
Apollinaris  between  us.  Morton,  what'll  you 
have  ?  " 

I  decided  upon  claret  and  hot  water,  never  having 
tasted  spirits.  De  Cartienne  made  a  wry  face,  but 
ordered  it  without  remark. 

"  I  say,  Morton,  I  don't  know  what  you'll  think 
of  us  shacking  about  in  a  public-house  like  this, 
and  bringing  you  here,  your  first  night,  too ! " 
exclaimed  Silchester,  dragging  his  chair  up  to  mine. 
"  Bad  form,  isn't  it  ?  But  it  is  so  dull  in  the 
evenings  and  Milly's  no  end  of  a  nice  girl.  No  one 
could  help  liking  her.  Besides,  she's  in  dreadful 


154  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

trouble  just  now,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice. 
"  Her  father  has  disappeared  suddenly.  Awfully 
mysterious  affair  and  no  mistake.  We  can't  make 
head  or  tail  of  it." 

"  It  is  uncommonly  queer,"  admitted  De  Carti- 
enne,  who  was  lounging  against  the  wall  beside  us. 
"  I  should  have  said  that  he'd  gone  off  on  the  spree 
somewhere,  but  he  couldn't  have  kept  it  up  so  long 
as  this." 

"  Besides,  he'd  only  a  few  pounds  with  him," 
Cecil  remarked. 

"  Seems  almost  as  though  he'd  come  to  grief  in 
some  way,"  I  said. 

"  I  daren't  tell  Milly,  but  I  don't  know  what 
else  to  think,"  Cecil  acknowledged. 

A  wild  idea  flashed  for  a  moment  into  my  mind, 
only  to  die  away  again  almost  as  rapidly.  It  was 
too  utterly  improbable.  Nevertheless,  I  asked 
Cecil  a  question  with  some  curiosity  : 

"  What  sort  of  looking  man  was  he  ?  " 

Cecil  and  De  Cartienne  both  began  to  describe 
him  at  once,  and,  as  De  Cartienne  modified  or 
contradicted  everything  Cecil  said,  I  was  soon  hi 
a  state  of  complete  bewilderment  as  to  the  per- 
sonality of  the  missing  man.  It  seemed  that  he 
was  short,  and  of  medium  height ;  that  he  was 
fair,  and  inclined  to  be  dark,  stout  and  thin,  pale 
and  ruddy.  Milly  put  in  a  word  or  two  now  and 
then ;  and,  what  with  De  Cartienne  dissenting 
from  everything  she  said,  and  Cecil,  a  little  per- 
plexed, siding  first  with  one  and  then  with  the 
other,  the  description  naturally  failed  to  carry  to 
my  mind  the  slightest  impression  of  Mr.  Hart's 
appearance.  At  last,  rather  impatiently,  I  stopped 
them. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  guilty  of  a  somewhat  un- 
reasonable curiosity,"  1  said,  "  for  I  haven't  any 
real  reason  for  asking ;  but  haven't  you  a  photo- 


A  LOST  PHOTOGRAPH.  155 

graph  of  your  father,  Miss  Hart  ?  I  can't  follow 
the  description  at  all." 

I  happened  to  be  looking  towards  De  Cartienne 
while  I  made  my  request,  and  suddenly,  from  no 
apparent  cause,  I  saw  him  start,  and  a  strange 
look  came  into  his  face.  At  first  I  thought  he 
must  be  ill ;  but,  seeing  my  eyes  fixed  upon  him, 
he  seemed  to  recover  himself  instantly,  though  he 
was  still  deadly  pale. 

"  Why,  what  the  mischief  are  you  staring  at, 
Morton  ?  "  asked  Cecil. 

"  Oh,  nothing  !  "  I  answered.  "  I  thought  that 
De  Cartienne  was  ill,  that's  all." 

Cecil  glanced  at  him  curiously. 

"  By  George  !  he  does  look  rather  white  about 
the  gills,  doesn't  he  ?  Say,  old  chap,  are  you 
ill?" 

De  Cartienne  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  !  "  he  said  carelessly.  "  Don't 
all  stare  at  me  as  though  I  were  some  sort  of  natural 
curiosity,  please.  I  feel  a  bit  queer,  but  it's  passing 
off.  I  think,  if  Miss  Milly  will  allow  me,  I'll  go 
and  sit  down  in  the  other  room  by  myself  for  a 
few  minutes." 

"  I'll  come  with  you  !  "  exclaimed  Cecil,  springing 
up.  "  Poor  old  chap  !  " 

"  No,  don't,  please ! "  protested  De  Cartienne. 
"  I  would  rather  be  alone ;  I  would  indeed.  I 
shall  be  all  right  directly." 

He  quitted  the  room  by  another  door,  and  we 
three  were  left  alone.  Cecil  and  Miss  Milly  began 
a  conversation  in  a  low  tone,  and  I,  feeling 
somewhat  de  trop,  took  up  a  local  newspaper  and 
affected  to  be  engaged  in  its  contents.  After  a 
few  minutes,  however,  Cecil  remembered  my  exist- 
ence. 

"  By  the  bye,  Milly,"  he  said,  "  Morton  was  asking 
you  whether  you  had  not  a  photograph  of  your 


156  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

father.    There's    one    in    the    sitting-room,    isn't 

there  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Well,  we'll  go  and  look  at  it  and  see  how 
Leonard  is.  He  looked  uncommonly  seedy,  didn't 
he  ?  Come  along,  Morton." 

We  crossed  a  narrow  passage  and  entered  a 
small  parlour.  Miss  Hart  walked  up  to  the  mantel- 
piece and  Cecil  and  I  remained  looking  round. 

"  Hallo  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Leonard  isn't  here  ; 
I  wonder  where " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  cry  of  blank  surprise 
from  Miss  Hart. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  How  you  startled 
me,  Milly  !  "  he  exclaimed,  hurrying  to  her  side. 
"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"Why,  the  photograph  1  " 

"  What  about  it  ?  " 

••  It's  gone  1 " 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


WE  all  three  stood  and  looked  at  one  another  for 
a  moment,  Milly  Hart  with  her  finger  still  pointing 
to  the  vacant  place  where  the  photograph  had  been. 
Then  Cecil  broke  into  a  short  laugh. 

"  We're  looking  very  tragical  about  it,"  he  said 
lightly.  "  Mysterious  joint  disappearance  of  Leo- 
nard de  Cartienne  and  a  photograph  of  Mr.  Hart. 
Now,  if  it  had  been  a  photograph  of  a  pretty  girl 
instead  of  a  middle-aged  man,  we  might  have  con- 
nected the  two.  Hallo  !  " 

He  broke  off  in  his  speech  and  turned  round. 
Standing  in  the  doorway,  looking  at  us,  was  Leonard 
de  Cartienne,  with  a  slight  smile  on  his  thin  lips. 

"  Behold  the  missing  link — I  mean  man  !  "  ex- 
claimed Cecil.  "  Good  old  Leonard !  Do  you 
know,  you  gave  us  quite  a  fright.  We  expected 
to  find  you  here  and  the  room  was  empty.  Are 
you  better  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks  !  I'm  all  right  now,"  he  answered. 
*'  I've  been  out  in  the  yard  and  had  a  blow.  What's 
Milly  looking  so  scared  about  ?  And  what  was  it  I 
heard  you  say  about  a  photograph  ?  " 

"  Father's  likeness  has  gone,"  she  explained, 
turning  round  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  It  was 
there  on  the  mantelpiece  this  afternoon  and  now, 
when  we  came  in  to  look  at  it,  it  has  gone.'* 

157 


158  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  I  should  think  that,  if  it  really  has  disappeared," 
De  Cartienne  remarked  incredulously,  "  the  servant 
must  have  moved  it.  Ask  her." 

Miss  Hart  rang  the  bell  and  in  the  meantime 
we  looked  about  the  room.  It  was  all  in  vain. 
We  could  find  no  trace  of  it,  nor  could  the  servant 
who  answered  the  summons  give  us  any  infor- 
mation. She  had  seen  it  in  its  usual  place  early 
in  the  morning  when  she  had  been  dusting.  Since 
then  she  had  not  entered  the  room. 

"  Deuced  queer  thing ! "  declared  Cecil,  when 
at  last  we  had  relinquished  the  search.  "  Deuced 
queer  1  "  he  repeated  meditatively,  with  his  hands 
thrust  deep  down  in  his  trousers'  pockets  and  his 
eyes  resting  idly  upon  De  Cartienne's  face.  "  But 
we  can't  do  anything  more,  that's  certain.  We 
really  must  be  off,  Milly.  We've  been  here  almost 
an  hour  already,  and  Brandy  and  Soda  must  be 
getting  restless,  and  you  must  be  famished,  I'm 
sure,  Morton.  Come  along !  Good-bye,  Milly ! 
Keep  your  spirits  up,  old  girl !  The  governor'll 
be  bound  to  turn  up  again  in  a  day  or  two.  And 
don't  you  worry  about  the  photograph.  It  must 
be  somewhere." 

"  But  it  isn't !  "  she  declared  tearfully.  "  We've 
looked  everywhere  !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Cecil  assumed  a  most  lugubrious  expression  and 
looked  down  sympathetically  into  her  tear-stained 
face.  She  certainly  was  uncommonly  pretty. 

"  You  go  on,  you  fellows,"  he  said.  "  I'll  be 
out  in  a  minute.  I'll  drive,  Leonard.  Don't  think 
you're  quite  up  to  it." 

De  Cartienne  nudged  my  arm  and  we  went  of! 
together  and  made  our  way  up  the  street  to  the 
inn,  under  the  covered  archway  of  which  the  trap 
was  drawn  up.  In  a  few  minutes  Cecil  joined  us. 

"  Hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting,"  he  said, 
as  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and  clambered  up  to  the 


LEONARD  DE  CARTIENNE.  159 

box-seat.  "  No,  you  come  in  front,  Morton.  That's 
right.  Very  odd  about  that  photograph,  isn't  it  ? 
It's  gone  and  no  mistake.  We've  been  having 
another  look  round." 

"  Nonsense ! "  exclaimed  De  Cartienne  impa- 
tiently. "  What  a  fuss  about  a  trifle !  A  girl 
has  no  memory  at  all !  I  expect  she  moved  it 
herself.  Bet  you  it  turns  up  by  the  morning." 

"  I  think  not,"  Cecil  replied  quietly,  as  he 
gathered  up  the  reins.  "  Now  then,  hold  on  be- 
hind !  " 

We  rattled  off  down  the  street  and  out  into 
the  open  country  again  at  a  pace  which  precluded 
any  conversation.  The  low  hedges  and  stunted 
trees  by  the  roadside  seemed  to  fly  past  us,  and  a 
sudden  turn,  which  almost  jerked  me  from  my 
seat,  brought  us  in  sight  of  a  wide  semi-circle  of 
twinkling  lights,  which  seemed  to  stretch  right 
across  the  horizon. 

"  What  are  they  ?  "  I  asked,  pointing  forward. 

"  Those  ?     Oh,  fishing-smacks  !  "  answered  Cecil. 

"  Is  that  the  sea,  then  ?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Why,  what  else  do  you  suppose  it  is  ?  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Can't  you  hear  it  ?  " 

I  bent  my  head  and  listened.  The  faint  night 
breeze  was  just  sufficient  to  carry  to  our  ears  the 
dull,  monotonous  roar  of  an  incoming  tide. 

"  Not  a  very  cheerful  row,  is  it  ?  "  observed  Cecil. 

"  Cheerful !  I  call  it  the  most  infernally  miser- 
able sound  I  ever  heard  !  "  growled  De  Cartienne, 
from  the  back  seat,  "  enough  to  give  a  fellow  the 
horrors  any  day  !  " 

"  See  that  bright  light  close  ahead  ?  "  said  Cecil, 
pointing  with  his  whip.  "  That's  Borden  Tower, 
where  we  hang  out,  you  know.  We  shall  be  there 
in  a  minute  or  two." 

"  Perhaps  !  "  growled  De  Cartienne  from  behind, 


160  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

making  a  nervous  clutch  at  the  side  of  the  trap. 
"  Cis,  my  dear  fellow,  you're  not  driving  a  fire- 
engine,  and  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  this 
confounded  hurry.  George  !  I  was  nearly  out  that 
time." 

We  had  turned  round  a  sharp  corner  into  a 
winding  drive,  devoid  of  trees,  and  planted  only 
with  stunted  shrubs.  On  one  side,  between  us 
and  the  shore,  was  a  long,  irregular  plantation  of 
small  fir  trees,  through  which  the  night  wind  was 
moaning  with  a  sound  not  unlike  the  more  distant 
roar  of  the  sea.  Directly  in  front  loomed  a  high 
dark  building,  standing  out  with  almost  startling 
abruptness  against  a  void  of  sky  and  moor. 

"  Here  we  are ! "  exclaimed  Cecil,  pulling  up 
with  a  flourish  before  the  front  entrance.  "  John, 
help  down  the  poor,  nervous  invalid  behind,  and 
take  Brandy  and  Soda  round  to  the  stable  at  once. 
They're  too  hot  to  stand  still  in  this  damp  air  a 
second." 

We  passed  across  a  large  but  somewhat  dreary 
hall  into  a  warm,  comfortable  dining-room.  A 
bright  fire  was  blazing  in  the  grate,  and  a  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room  was  very  tastefully  laid  for 
dinner. 

"  Make  yourself  at  home,  Morton  !  "  exclaimed 
Cecil,  standing  on  the  hearthrug  and  stretching 
out  a  numbed  hand  to  the  blaze.  *'  Draw  an  easy- 
chair  up  to  the  fire  while  James  unpacks  your  traps 
and  sees  to  your  room.  Leonard,  ring  the  bell, 
there's  a  good  fellow,  and  let  them  know  we're 
ready  for  dinner." 

"  Thanks  ;  I  think  I'll  go  upstairs  at  once,"  1 
remarked. 

"  All  right !  Here's  James  ;  he'll  show  you  your 
room.  One  servant  between  three  of  us  now. 
Good  old  James  !  I  say,  Morton,  no  swallow-tails, 
you  know " 


LEONARD  DE  CARTIENNE.  161 

I  nodded  and  followed  the  man,  who  was  waiting 
in  the  doorway,  to  my  room. 

After  my  bare-floored,  low-ceilinged  attic  at  the 
farm,  the  apartment  into  which  I  was  ushered 
seemed  a  very  temple  of  luxury.  There  was  a 
soft  carpet  upon  the  floor,  many  easy  chairs,  an 
Oriental  divan,  mirrors,  and  solid,  handsomely 
carved  furniture.  Leading  out  of  it  on  one  side 
was  a  bath-room  and  on  the  other  a  small,  cosy 
sitting-room,  or  study. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  I  can  do  for  you, 
sir  ?  "  inquired  the  man,  after  he  had  poured  out 
my  hot  water  and  set  out  the  contents  of  my 
portmanteau. 

I  shook  my  head  and  dismissed  him.  After  a 
very  brief  toilet  I  hastened  downstairs. 

The  dinner  was  remarkably  good  and  I  was 
very  hungry ;  but  I  found  time  to  notice  two 
things.  The  first  was  that  Cecil  drank  a  great 
deal  more  wine  than  at  his  age  was  good  for  him  ; 
and  the  second,  that  De  Cartienne,  who  drank 
very  little  himself,  concealed  that  fact  as  far 
as  he  was  able  and  passed  the  bottle  continu- 
ally to  Cecil.  This  did  not  much  surprise  me, 
for  I  had  already  formed  my  own  opinion  of  De 
Cartienne. 

After  dinner  the  man  who  waited  upon  us  brought 
in  some  coffee  and  withdrew.  Cecil,  whose  cheeks 
were  a  little  flushed,  and  whose  eyes  were  sparkling 
with  more  than  ordinary  brightness,  rose  and 
stretched  himself. 

"  I  say,  Leonard,"  he  exclaimed,  "  let's  adjourn 
to  your  room  and  have  a  hand  at  cards  !  Shall 
we?" 

De  Cartienne  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  did  not 
offer  to  move. 

"  I'm  not  particularly  keen  on  cards  to-night," 
he  remarked,  with  a  yawn.  "  I  believe,  if  you 

L 


162  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

had  your  own  way,  you'd  play  from  morning  to 
night." 

"  Oh,  hang  it  all,  there's  nothing  else  to  be  done  !  " 
Cecil  answered.  "  If  we  stay  down  here  we  can't 
smoke,  and  we  shall  have  old  Gramps  back  bother- 
ing presently." 

"  I  forgot  we  couldn't  smoke,"  De  Cartienne  said, 
rising.  "  Come  along,  then  !  " 

"  You  don't  mind,  Morton,  do  you  ? "  Cecil 
asked,  turning  towards  me.  "  It's  awfully  cosy 
up  in  Len's  room." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  answered,  finishing  my  coffee. 
"  I'll  come,  but  I  can't  play." 

"  Oh,  that  doesn't  matter  !  You  can  watch  us 
for  a  bit,  and  you'll  soon  pick  it  up.  Hi,  James  !  " 
Cecil  sang  out,  as  that  worthy  showed  himself  at 
the  door  for  a  minute,  "  bring  us  up  some  whisky 
and  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  seltzer  water  into  Mr. 
De  Cartienne's  room,  will  you  ?  Look  sharp,  there's 
a  good  fellow  !  " 

De  Cartienne's  rooms,  especially  his  study,  were 
furnished  far  more  luxuriously  than  mine  and  in 
excellent  taste.  The  walls  and  chimney-piece  were 
covered  with  charming  little  sketches,  a  few  foreign 
prints,  photographs,  and  dainty  little  trifles  of 
bric-a-brac.  Except  for  the  photographs,  some 
of  which  were  a  little  risque,  it  was  more  like  a 
lady's  boudoir  than  a  man's  sitting-room. 

De  Cartienne  and  Cecil  seated  themselves  at  a 
small  round  table  and  began  to  play  almost  imme- 
diately. I  drew  an  easy  chair  up  to  the  fire,  and 
closed  my  eyes  as  though  I  intended  going  to  sleep. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  meant  to  watch  the  game, 
and  closely,  too.  But  Fate  decided  otherwise.  I 
was  really  very  sleepy,  and,  though  I  struggled 
against  it,  I  was  obliged  to  yield  in  the  end.  I 
fell  asleep,  and  it  must  have  been  nearly  two  hours 
before  I  was  awakened  by  a  touch  on  my  arm. 


LEONARD  DE  CARTIENNE.  163 

"  Wake  up,  Morton,  old  chap !  It's  time  we 
were  off  to  our  rooms." 

I  sat  up  and  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  past 
midnight. 

Cecil  was  leaning  against  the  table,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  pale  and  weary,  but 
exultant. 

"  I've  been  in  rare  luck  to-night !  "  he  exclaimed. 
*'  Won  a  couple  of  ponies  from  poor  old  Len,  and 
a  whole  hatful  of  I  O  U's.  Here  they  go  !  "  And 
he  swept  a  little  pile  of  crumpled  papers  into  the 
fire. 

I  glanced  at  De  Cartienne  to  see  how  losing  had 
affected  him.  Not  in  the  ordinary  way,  at  any 
rate.  He  was  sitting  back  in  his  chair,  with  his 
arms  crossed,  a  cigarette  between  his  teeth  and 
an  inscrutable  smile  upon  his  thin  lips.  Somehow 
I  did  not  like  his  expression.  There  was  some- 
thing a  little  too  closely  approaching  contempt 
in  it  as  he  watched  Cecil's  action  and  listened 
to  the  exultant  ring  in  his  tone — something  which 
seemed  to  express  a  latent  power  to  reverse 
the  result  with  ease  at  any  time  he  thought  proper. 

It  was  rushing  to  conclusions,  no  doubt ;  but  as 
I  glanced  from  Cecil's  boyish,  handsome  face,  a 
trifle  dissipated  just  now,  but  open  and  candid, 
to  the  pale,  sallow  countenance,  the  large  black 
eyes,  and  cynical,  callous  expression  of  his  friend, 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  looking  from  the  face 
of  the  tempted  to  the  face  of  the  tempter.  The 
one  seemed  like  the  evil  genius  of  the  other, 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

"AS   ROME    DOES.** 

I  AWOKE  on  the  following  morning  with  that  vague, 
peculiar  sense  of  having  entered  upon  an  altogether 
new  phase  of  life.  By  degrees  my  semi-somnolent 
faculties  reasserted  themselves  and  I  remembered 
where  I  was.  My  new  life  had  indeed  begun  in 
earnest. 

I  sprang  out  of  bed  and  pulled  up  the  blind. 
It  was  a  very  strange  prospect  I  looked  out  upon, 
after  the  luxuriant  hilly  scenery  of  the  home  where 
I  had  lived  all  my  life.  Before  me  was  a  flat,  un- 
cultivated common,  dotted  here  and  there  with  a 
few  stunted  gorse-bushes  and  numerous  sand- 
heaps.  Farther  away  a  long  stretch  of  shingle 
sloped  down  to  the  foam-crested  sea  which,  under 
the  grey,  sunless  sky  of  the  early  winter's  morning, 
had  a  dull,  forbidding  appearance.  Though  it 
was  not  an  inviting  prospect,  there  was  some- 
thing attractive  in  its  novelty,  and,  dropping  the 
blind,  I  hastened  into  the  bath-room  and  began 
dressing. 

It  was  past  eight  o'clock  when  I  got  downstairs, 
but  I  saw  no  one  about,  so  I  let  myself  out  by  the 
front  door  and  walked  down  the  drive.  The  grounds 
were  small  and  soon  explored,  and,  having  ex- 
hausted them,  I  passed  through  a  wicket-gate  into 

164 


"AS  ROME  DOES."  165 

a  little  plantation  of  pine-trees  and  thence  out 
on  to  the  common.  Then,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  felt  a  strong  sea-breeze,  and, 
with  my  cap  in  my  hand  and  my  face  turned 
seawards,  I  stood  for  a  few  moments  thoroughly 
enjoying  it. 

"  Glad  to  see  that  you're  an  early  riser,  Mr. 
Morton.  It's  a  habit  which,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  my 
other  pupils  have  not  acquired." 

I  turned  round  with  a  start.  A  tall,  thin  man, 
somewhat  past  middle  age,  with  iron-grey  hair  and 
thin,  regular  features,  was  standing  by  my  side. 
His  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a  visionary  and  a  poet, 
and  his  worn,  thoughtful  face  bore  the  unmistak- 
able stamp  of  the  student.  I  liked  his  appearance, 
careless  and  dishevelled  though  it  was  in  point  of 
attire,  and  knowing  that  this  must  be  Dr.  Randall, 
I  felt  a  keen  sense  of  relief. 

For,  bearing  in  mind  the  evident  habits  and 
last  night's  occupation  of  Silchester  and  De  Car- 
tienne,  I  had  begun  to  wonder  somewhat  appre- 
hensively what  manner  of  man  the  master  of  such 
pupils  might  be.  Now  I  felt  sure  that  the  idea 
which  had  first  occurred  to  me  had  been  the  correct 
one,  and  that  the  doings  of  the  night  before  were 
carried  on  altogether  under  the  rose.  The  man 
James  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  servant  whom 
it  would  be  easy  to  bribe.  This  without  doubt  had 
been  done. 

"  Perhaps  they  haven't  lived  all  their  lives  in 
the  country,  sir,  as  I  have,"  I  answered.  "  I  have 
always  been  used  to  getting  up  early." 

"  So  you  are  my  new  pupil  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Morton,  I'm  very  pleased  to  see  you,  and  I 
have  an  idea  that  we  shall  get  on  very  well  together. 
I  was  going  to  walk  down  to  the  sea.  Will  you 
come  with  me  ?  " 

I  followed  him  along  the  tortuous  path  to  the 


166  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

shore,  and  on  the  way  he  questioned  me  about 
my  acquirements,  putting  me  through  a  sort  of 
vivd-voce  examination,  the  result  of  which  appeared 
to  satisfy  him. 

"  This  is  quite  a  pleasant  surprise  to  me,"  he 
said,  as  we  turned  back  to  the  house.  "  You  are 
almost  as  advanced  as  De  Cartienne  and  far  more 
so  than  Silchester.  I  suppose  you  mean  to  ma- 
triculate ?  " 

I  told  him  that  I  thought  so,  but  he  scarcely 
seemed  to  hear.  Apparently  his  mind  had 
wandered  to  some  other  subject  and  for  nearly 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  remained  absorbed.  I 
learned  afterwards  that  this  was  a  habit  of  his. 

With  a  start  he  came  to  himself,  and,  apologising 
for  his  absent-mindedness,  led  the  way  back  to 
the  house  and  into  the  breakfast-room.  The 
cloth  was  laid  for  four  and  the  urn  was  hissing 
upon  the  table  ;  but  there  was  no  one  else 
down. 

"  Is  neither  Lord  Silchester  nor  Mr.  De  Car- 
tienne up  yet,  James  ?  "  inquired  Dr.  Randall. 

James  believed  not,  but  would  ascertain.  In  a 
few  moments  he  returned. 

"  Lord  Silchester  desires  me  to  say  that  he  was 
reading  late  last  night,  sir,  and  has  overslept  him- 
self ;  but  he  will  be  down  as  soon  as  possible," 
James  announced  solemnly. 

Remembering  that  James  had  been  in  attend- 
ance upon  us  in  De  Cartienne's  rooms  last  night, 
I  thought  that  this  was  rather  cool.  But  it  was 
no  concern  of  mine  and  I  held  my  peace. 

Dr.  Randall  frowned  slightly  and  looked  vexed. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  Silchester  does  most  of 
his  reading  at  night,"  he  remarked.  "  I  could  wish 
that  the  results  of  it  were  a  little  more  apparent. 
And  Mr.  De  Cartienne,  James  ?  Has  he  overslept 
himself,  too  ?  " 


"AS  ROME  DOES."  167 

"  Mr.  De  Cartienne  will  be  here  immediately,  sir," 
the  man  announced. 

We  began  breakfast.  When  we  were  about 
half-way  through  the  meal,  the  door  opened  and 
De  Cartienne  appeared.  He  cast  an  apprehensive 
glance  at  me,  and  then,  seeing  that  Dr.  Randall 
greeted  him  as  usual,  looked  relieved. 

Presently  the  doctor  left  the  table,  bidding  us 
join  him  in  the  study  in  half  an  hour.  Directly 
the  door  had  closed  De  Cartienne  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  laughed  softly  to  himself. 

"  Whatever  made  you  get  up  so  early  ?  "  he 
asked,  looking  at  me  curiously.  "  Gave  me  quite 
a  turn  when  I  heard  that  you  were  down  and  alone 
with  Grumps  ;  and  Cis  was  in  an  awful  funk.  We 
were  afraid  that  you  might  let  out  something  about 
last  night — accidentally,  of  course  ;  and  then  there 
would  have  been  the  deuce  to  pay  and  no  mistake. 
James,  take  my  plate  and  bring  me  a  brandy-and- 
soda.  Take  care  the  doctor  doesn't  see  you." 

"Whose  servant  is  James  ?"  I  asked,  as  he  dis- 
appeared— "  yours  or  the  doctor's  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  imagines  that  he's  his,  I  suppose  ; 
but  he  gets  a  lot  more  from  Cis  and  me  than  Grumps 
pays  him,"  De  Cartienne  explained  carelessly.  "  I 
knew  him  before  he  came  here,  and  got  him  to 
apply  for  the  situation  by  promising  to  double  his 
wages." 

"  And  the  advantages  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Obvious  enough,  I  should  think.  You've  seen 
some  of  them  already,  and  you'll  see  some  more 
before  you've  been  here  long." 

"  I  daresay.  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  for 
me  to  tell  you,  De  Cartienne,  that  what  I  have 
seen  I  don't  like." 

"  Very  likely  not,"  he  answered  carelessly.  "  I 
thought  directly  I  saw  you  that  you  were  a  bit  of 
a  prig — I  beg  your  pardon,  I  should  say,  rather 


168  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET; 

strait-laced.  Still,  I  don't  suppose  you'll  think  it 
worth  your  while  to  interfere.  You  can  go  your 
way  and  Cis  and  I  can  go  ours." 

"  That  would  make  it  a  little  dull  for  me,"  I 
said  slowly.  "  Perhaps  I  am  not  quite  so  strait- 
laced  as  you  seem  to  think.  I  suppose  you  would 
teach  me  how  to  play  cards,  if  I  desired  to  learn  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly !  And  how  to  use  this  also,"  he 
remarked,  drawing  a  latchkey  from  his  pocket  and 
swinging  it  carelessly  backwards  and  forwards. 

"  I  think  I  will  learn,  then,"  I  answered.  "  After 
all,  this  place  would  be  ghastly  dull  if  I  didn't  do 
as  you  fellows  do." 

He  looked  at  me  searchingly  out  of  his  keen 
dark  eyes,  but  I  sipped  my  coffee  leisurely  and 
seemed  to  be  quite  unconscious  of  his  scrutiny. 
Apparently  he  was  satisfied,  for  I  saw  the  hard 
lines  of  his  mouth  relax  a  little  and  he  smiled — 
a  disagreeable  smile  of  contemptuous  triumph. 

"  I've  no  doubt  you'll  prove  an  apt  pupil,"  he 
remarked.  "  Have  you  finished  ?  If  so,  we'll  go 
and  have  a  cigarette  in  my  room  before  we  start 
work  with  Grumps." 

"  Does  the  doctor  allow  smoking  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Morton,  we've  never 
asked  him.  What  the  eye  doesn't  see,  the  heart 
doesn't  grieve  over,  you  know.  We  go  on  that 
principle,  and  smoke  in  our  rooms  with  the  doors 
shut  and  windows  open.  Come  along  1  M 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

A   DINNER-PARTY   SUB  ROSA. 

IN  less  than  a  week's  time  I  was  master  of  the 
state  of  affairs  at  Borden  Tower.  Dr.  Randall, 
with  the  best  possible  intentions,  was  the  worst 
possible  man  that  could  have  been  chosen  for  the 
guardianship  of  two  such  pupils  as  Lord  Sil- 
chester  and  Leonard  De  Cartienne.  He  was  a 
scholar  and  a  pedant,  utterly  unsuspicious  and 
ignorant  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  himself  so 
truthful  and  honourable  that  he  could  scarcely 
have  imagined  deceit  possible  in  others,  and  cer- 
tainly not  in  his  own  wards.  Of  the  servants, 
James  and  his  wife  were  the  only  ones  in  authority, 
and  they  were  the  tools  of  De  Cartienne. 

The  latter  I  could  not  quite  understand.  The 
only  thing  about  him  perfectly  clear  was  that 
he  was  just  the  worst  companion  possible  for 
Silchester.  For  the  rest,  he  was  so  clever  that 
his  presence  here  at  all  as  a  pupil  seemed  unneces- 
sary. He  appeared  to  be  rich  and  he  took  a 
deep  interest  of  some  sort  in  Cecil.  Seemingly  it 
was  a  friendly  interest,  but  of  that  I  did  not  feel 
assured.  At  any  rate,  it  was  an  injurious  associa- 
tion for  Cecil,  and  I  determined  to  do  everything  in 
my  power  to  counteract  it. 

To  strike  at  once,  to  attempt  to  show  him  the 
folly  of  the  courses  into  which  he  was  being 

169 


170  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

led,  I  saw  would  be  futile.  I  must  have  time 
and  opportunity.  Any  violent  measures  in  such 
a  case  would  be  worse  than  useless.  My  only 
course,  obnoxious  though  it  was,  was  to  join  them 
in  their  pursuits  and  try  to  gain  some  sort  of  in- 
fluence over  Cecil,  while  I  kept  him  as  far  as  possible 
from  falling  into  further  mischief. 

Accordingly,  on  the  first  evening  after  my  arrival 
at  Borden  Tower,  I  was  initiated  into  the  mysteries 
of  poker  and  Prussian  bank,  and  on  subsequent 
occasions  I  either  joined  them  or  looked  on.  The 
result  in  the  main  was  pretty  much  as  I  had  ex- 
pected. De  Cartienne  won  always  when  the  stakes 
were  very  large,  and  Lord  Silchester  when  they 
were  scarcely  worth  having. 

The  earlier  part  of  the  day  was  by  far  the 
pleasanter  to  me.  In  the  morning  we  worked  with 
Dr.  Randall ;  in  the  afternoon  we  always  walked 
or  rode — in  either  case,  a  visit  to  the  "  Rose  and 
Crown  "  was  an  invariable  part  of  the  programme — 
and  in  the  evening,  after  dinner,  we  were  supposed 
to  read  until  ten  o'clock,  although  the  manner  in 
which  we  really  spent  that  portion  of  the  day  was 
far  less  profitable. 

I  had  intended  paying  a  special  visit  to  Miss 
Milly  Hart  on  my  own  account ;  but  either  by 
accident  or  design — at  the  time  I  was  not  sure 
which — De  Cartienne  always  seemed  to  frustrate 
my  plans.  Even  to  myself  I  would  not  acknow- 
ledge that  I  had  any  other  motive  save  pure  curi- 
osity ;  but  I  was  still  determined  by  some  means 
or  other  to  see  a  photograph  of  the  missing  Mr. 
Hart.  The  strange  disappearance  of  the  one  in 
the  sitting-room  at  the  inn — it  had  never  been 
found — puzzled  me,  and  whenever  I  caught  myself 
thinking  of  the  incident,  it  was  always  in  connection 
with  Leonard  De  Cartienne.  It  seemed  very  absurd, 
when  I  considered  the  matter  calmly,  but  never- 


A  DINNER-PARTY  SUB  ROSA.         171 

theless  I  could  not  escape  from  it.  It  haunted 
me,  as  ideas  sometimes  will. 

One  afternoon,  about  two  months  after  my 
arrival  at  Borden  Towers,  Cecil  and  I  were  reading 
together  in  the  study — or,  rather,  I  was  endeavouring 
to  encourage  one  of  his  rare  fits  of  industry  by 
helping  him  through  a  stiff  page  of  Livy — when 
the  door  opened  suddenly  and  De  Cartienne  entered 
with  an  open  telegram  in  his  hand.  Seeing  me,  he 
stopped  short  and  frowned. 

"  Hallo,  Len  !  What's  up  ?  "  Cecil  exclaimed. 
"  What  have  you  got  there  ?  A  telegram  ?  " 

De  Cartienne  nodded  and,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  handed  it  over. 

"  It's  from  Fothergill,"  he  explained.  "  He  is 
coming  over  to-night,  and  wants  us  to  dine  with 
him." 

"Should  like  to  awfully,"  Cecil  said,  "but  I 
don't  see  how  we  can.  Old  Grumps  wouldn't  let 
us  go,  of  course,  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  manage 
it  without  his  knowing." 

"Don't  you?  Well,  I  do,"  De  Cartienne  re- 
marked drily.  "  Grumps  is  going  over  to  Bels- 
combe  this  evening  to  take  the  chair  at  the  literary 
society  there.  He'll  have  to  dine  at  six  and  leave 
at  a  quarter  to  seven.  I  know  that,  because  I 
heard  him  give  his  orders.  That  will  leave  us 
plenty  of  time  to  get  down  into  the  town  by  ei;;ht 
o'clock  ;  and  we  shall  be  all  right  for  coming  back, 
of  course." 

"  That's  capital !  "  declared  Cecil,  shutting  up 
his  Livy  with  a  bang.  "  We  will  have  our  revenge 
on  old  Fothergill  to-night.  Just  what  I've  been 
looking  forward  to." 

De  Cartienne  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  he  said  slowly.  "I 
fancy  Fothergill  is  a  bit  too  good  for  us.  I  shan't 
be  very  keen  on  cards  to-night,  I  can  tell  you.  I 


i;2  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

lost  more  money  than  I  cared  about  last  time  he 
was  here." 

Cecil  laughed  carelessly. 

"  You  didn't  lose  as  much  as  I  did,"  he  remarked. 
"  But,  then,  Fothergill  had  all  the  luck.  I  never 
remember  such  a  run  of  trumps  as  he  held  in  that 
last  deal ;  and  you  played  villainously,  you  know 
• — gave  him  no  end  of  tricks." 

The  very  faintest  suspicion  of  a  smile — an  evil 
smile  it  was — trembled  on  De  Cartienne's  lips,  and 
he  turned  away  towards  the  window  as  though 
to  hide  it. 

"  I  wasn't  in  very  good  form  that  night,"  he 
acknowledged.  "  I  must  make  up  for  it  to-night, 
if  we  can  get  Fothergill  to  give  us  our  revenge." 

Cecil  drummed  upon  the  table  with  his  fingers 
and  raised  his  eyebrows  slightly. 

"  He  can't  very  well  refuse  if  we  ask  for  it,  can 
he?" 

"  I  suppose  not,"  De  Cartienne  answered,  loung- 
ing across  the  room  towards  the  door.  "  I'll  go 
and  see  James  and  let  him  know  that  we  shall 
want  the  latchkey." 

"  All  right.  And  I  say,  Len,"  Cecil  continued, 
"  we  must  take  Morton  with  us,  of  course." 

De  Cartienne  turned  round  with  an  angry  frown 
upon  his  dark  face. 

"  I  scarcely  see  how  that  would  be  possible," 
he  said  stiffly.  "  I  think  it  would  be  taking  rather 
a  liberty  with  Fothergill.  He  only  asks  us  two." 

In  other  circumstances  I  should  promptly  have 
refused  to  be  one  of  the  party,  especially  as  the 
invitation  appeared  to  come  from  a  friend  of  De 
Cartienne's.  But  the  darkening  shade  which  I 
had  seen  flash  across  De  Cartienne's  face  reawakened 
all  my  suspicions  with  regard  to  him  and  I  instantly 
determined  that,  by  some  means  or  other,  I  would 
go.  His  evident  reluctance  to  invite  me  only 


A  DINNER-PARTY  SUB  ROSA.        173 

strengthened  my  intention,  so,  although  he  looked 
at  me  as  if  expecting  to  hear  me  express  my 
indifference  as  to  whether  I  went  or  not,  I  pur- 
posely refrained  from  doing  anything  of  the  sort. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  rot !  "  Cecil  protested.  "  We 
can't  go  off  and  leave  Morton  boxed  up  here  by 
himself." 

"  I  don't  suppose  Morton  would  care  much 
about  it,"  said  De  Cartienne  sullenly. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  should  enjoy  it  very  much 
indeed,"  I  interposed ;  "  although,  of  course,  I 
don't  wish  to  go  if  you  think  that  your  friend  would 
object,"  I  added  blandly.  "  It's  rather  dull  here 
by  oneself." 

"  Of  course  it  is !  Morton,  old  chap,  you  shall 
go  with  us,  never  fear  !  "  Cecil  declared  vigorously. 
"  Tell  you  what,  Len,  if  you  won't  do  the  agree- 
able and  make  things  right  with  Fothergill — as 
you  can,  if  you  like,  of  course — I  shan't  go,  so  there  ! 
Which  is  it  to  be — both  or  neither  ?  " 

"  Both,  of  course,"  De  Cartienne  answered, 
with  as  good  grace  as  possible.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  Morton  would  have  cared  about  it, 
that's  all.  Be  ready  punctually  at  half-past  seven, 
you  men." 

"  All  right ! "  exclaimed  Cecil,  delighted  at 
getting  his  own  way  for  a  change.  "  Good  old 
Len  !  Morton,  pitch  that  beastly  Livy  into  the 
drawer  and  come  and  change  your  things.  We'll 
have  some  fun  to-night  i  "i 


CHAPTER   XXXi 

ECART6  WITH  MR.   FOTHERGILLJ 

AT  a  little  before  eight  o'clock  De  Cartienne,  Cecil, 
and  I  presented  ourselves  at  the  bar  of  the  "  Bull " 
Hotel,  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Fothergill.  We  were 
shown  at  once  by  a  waiter  into  a  small  private 
sitting-room,  brilliantly  illuminated  and  unmis- 
takably cosy.  Under  the  chandelier  was  a  small 
round  table  glittering  with  plate  and  flowers  ;  and, 
standing  upon  the  hearthrug,  critically  surveying 
it,  was  a  middle-aged,  dapper-looking  little  man, 
in  well-cut  evening  clothes,  with  a  white  camellia 
in  his  buttonhole. 

His  hair  was  slightly  tinged  with  grey,  but  his 
moustache  was  still  jet-black  and  elaborately  curled 
and  waxed.  His  forehead  was  low  and  his  full 
red  lips  and  slightly  hooked  nose  gave  him  some- 
thing of  a  Jewish  appearance.  He  had  just  missed 
being  handsome,  and,  similarly,  had  just  missed 
being  good  form  ;  at  least,  so  it  seemed  to  me 
from  my  first  rapid  survey,  and  I  did  not  after- 
wards change  my  opinion. 

Directly  we  entered  the  room  he  moved  forward 
to  meet  us,  with  a  smile  which  revealed  a  very 
fine  set  of  teeth.  I  watched  him  closely  as  he 
noted  the  addition  to  the  party,  but  he  betrayed 
no  surprise  or  annoyance.  On  the  contrary,  when 
Cecil  had  introduced  me  as  his  friend  and  fellow- 

174 


ECARTE  WITH  MR.  FOTHERGILL.     175 

pupil  at  Borden  Tower,  he  welcomed  me  with  a 
courtesy  which  was  a  little  effusive.  On  the  whole, 
I  decided  that  his  manners  were  in  his  favour. 

There  was  some  casual  conversation,  an  ex- 
planation rather  more  elaborate  than  seemed  to 
me  necessary  of  his  flying  visit  to  Little  Drayton, 
and  then  dinner  was  announced.  Everything  had 
evidently  been  carefully  ordered  and  prepared 
and  was  of  the  best.  Mr.  Fothergill,  whatever 
his  shortcomings,  made  a  capital  host  ;  and  his 
talk,  though  a  trifle  slangy  and  coarse  at  times, 
was  amusing  in  the  extreme.  Altogether,  the 
dinner  was  a  success  in  every  respect  save  one.  For 
four  men,  two  of  whom  were  under  twenty,  there 
was  a  great  deal  too  much  wine  drunk. 

I  think  I  scarcely  noticed  it  until  the  cloth  was 
removed  and  dessert  placed  upon  the  table.  Then 
a  curious  sense  of  exhilaration  in  my  own  spirits 
warned  me  to  be  careful  and  I  looked  round  at 
once  at  the  others. 

Cecil  sat  directly  opposite  to  me  and  I  saw  at 
a  glance  how  it  was  with  him.  His  hair,  which 
he  always  kept  rather  long,  but  carefully  parted, 
was  disarranged  and  untidy  ;  his  neat  tie  had 
become  crumpled  and  had  slipped  up  on  one 
side ;  his  eyes  were  sparkling,  as  though  with 
some  unusual  excitement,  and  there  was  a  glow 
of  colour  in  his  cheeks  almost  hectic  in  its  in- 
tensity. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  our  host  was  still  smiling 
and  debonair,  looking  as  though  he  had  been  drink- 
ing nothing  stronger  than  water ;  and  opposite 
to  him  De  Cartienne  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
with  a  faint  tinge  of  colour  in  his  olive  cheeks 
and  a  peculiar  glitter  in  his  dark  eyes  which  was 
anything  but  pleasant  to  look  upon.  Altogether, 
the  appearance  of  the  trio  was  like  a  cold  douche 
to  me  and  brought  me  swiftly  back  to  my  former 


176  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

watchfulness.  I  felt  instinctively  there  was  mischief 
brewing. 

"  I  say,  Fothergill,  let's  have  a  hand  at  cards  !  " 
Cecil  exclaimed,  breaking  a  momentary  silence. 
"  You  owe  us  a  revenge,  you  know !  George  ! 
didn't  you  clean  us  out  last  time  we  played ! 
We'll  clean  you  out  to-night,  hanged  if  we  won't ! 
What  shall  it  be  ?  " 

Mr.  Fothergill  shrugged  his  shoulders  depre- 
catingly. 

"  Cards  —  cards  !  It's  always  cards  !  "  he 
answered  lightly.  "  Can't  you  think  of  something 
else  to  do  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;    hang  cards  !  "  muttered  De  Cartienne. 

"  All  right,  I'm  agreeable  !  But  what  the  mis- 
chief else  is  there  to  do  in  this  dull  hole  ?  "  asked 
Cecil  discontentedly. 

"  Oh,  let's  have  a  chat  and  a  few  more  glasses 
of  wine ! "  suggested  Mr.  Fothergill.  '*  I'm  so 
lucky  that  I  hate  to  play  at  cards.  I  always 
win." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  remarked  Cecil,  a  little  pettishly. 
"  Well,  look  here,  Fothergill !  I'll  play  you  at 
any  game  you  like  to-night  and  beat  you — so 
there  !  I  challenge  you !  You  owe  me  a  revenge. 
I  want  it !  " 

Mr.  Fothergill  looked  a  little  bored. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  put  it  in  that  way,"  he  said, 
"  you  leave  me  no  alternative.  But,  mind,  I 
warn  you  beforehand,  Silchester,  I'm  bound  to 
win  !  I  don't  want  to  win  your  money — I  had 
enough  last  time  I  was  here — but  if  we  play  I  shall 
win,  whether  I  care  about  it  or  not.  I'm  in  a 
tremendous  vein  of  luck  just  now." 

"  We'll  see  about  that,"  Cecil  answered  doggedly. 
"  Let's  ring  for  some  cards." 

"  Or,  rather,  don't  let's  play  here  at  all,"  inter- 
rupted De  Cartienne.  "  The  people  are  awfully 


ECARTE  WITH  MR.  FOTHERGILL.     177 

old-fashioned  and  particular  and  may  want  to  turn 
us  out  at  eleven  o'clock." 

"  By  George  !  we'll  go  round  to  the  '  Rose  and 
Crown  ! '"  exclaimed  Cecil.  "  I  haven't  been  there 
for  two  days.  It's  a  decent  little  place  and  we 
can  do  what  we  like  there,"  he  added,  turning  to 
Mr.  Fothergill.  "  You  don't  mind,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world !  "  declared  our 
host,  rising  and  stretching  himself.  "  Any  place 
will  do  for  me.  The  sooner  the  better,  if  we  are 
going,  though.  I  don't  want  to  be  particularly 
late." 

We  all  rose,  despatched  the  waiter  for  our  over- 
coats and  sallied  out  into  the  cool  night  air.  After 
the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  room  in  which  we 
had  been  dining,  the  wintry  breeze  came  as  a  sudden 
swift  tonic.  At  the  corner  of  the  street,  looking 
seaward,  Cecil  and  I  stopped  simultaneously  and 
bared  our  heads. 

"  By  George  !  how  delicious  a  walk  would  be  !  " 
he  exclaimed,  fanning  himself  with  his  cap.  "  I 
say,  Phil,  old  chap,  suppose  we  bolt  and  do  the 
seashore  as  far  as  Litton  Bay  ?  " 

"  A  splendid  idea  !  "  I  exclaimed,  taking  him 
at  his  word  and  linking  his  arm  in  mine.  "  Let's 
do  it !  " 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Why,  Phil,  you  know  we  can't ! "  he  said. 
"  I  was  only  joking.  Why,  what  on  earth  would 
Fothergill  think  of  us  serving  him  such  a  trick 
as  that  ?  " 

"Oh,  hang  Fothergill ! "  I  cried.  "He  only 
wants  to  win  your  money.  I  wouldn't  play  with 
the  fellow  if  I  were  you,  Cecil.  Can't  you  see  he's 
a  cad  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me,  confounded. 

"  Why,  hang  it  all,"  he  said,  **  now  can  you 
refuse  to  play  with  a  man  after  you've  eaten  his 

1C 


178  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

dinner  ?  Besides,  can't  you  see  that  it  isn't  he 
who  wants  to  play  at  all  ?  It  was  I  who  proposed 
it  and  even  then  he  wasn't  keen." 

"All  beastly  cunning!"  I  muttered  angrily. 
But  I  could  say  no  more,  for  De  Cartienne  and 
Mr.  Fothergill  had  retraced  their  steps  to  look  for 
us  and  Cecil  had  started  off  towards  them. 

In  a  few  moments  we  reached  the  "  Rose  and 
Crown  "  and  walked  straight  into  the  little  parlour 
at  the  back.  Miss  Milly  was  sitting  there  by  her- 
self in  semi-darkness,  with  a  very  disconsolate 
face.  She  brightened  up,  however,  at  our  en- 
trance. 

"  All  by  yourself,  Milly  ? "  exclaimed  Cecil, 
letting  go  my  arm  and  moving  to  her  side.  "  In 
tears,  too,  I  believe  !  No  news,  I  suppose  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  None  !     I  have  almost  lost  hope,"  she  added. 

Then  she  glanced  questioningly  at  Mr.  Fother- 
gill, and  Cecil  introduced  him  in  an  informal  sort 
of  way  and  explained  our  visit. 

"  We've  come  to  drink  up  all  your  wine  and 
have  a  quiet  game  at  cards  instead  of  staying  all 
the  evening  at  the  '  Bull.'  You  can  put  us  in  the 
sitting-room  out  of  the  way,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  answered  eagerly.  "  How  good 
of  you  to  come  here !  We've  been  dreadfully 
quiet  the  last  few  days — scarcely  anyone  in  at  all, 
and  I  have  been  so  dull.  Come  this  way,  please. 
I'm  so  glad  I  had  the  fire  lit." 

She  led  us  into  the  little  sitting-room,  where 
we  had  gone  to  look  for  Mr.  Hart's  photograph 
on  my  first  visit  to  the  place.  I  pointed  to  the  spot 
where  it  had  been. 

"  You  haven't  found  the  portrait  yet  ?  "  I  re- 
marked. 

She  shook  her  head  and  looked  distressed. 

"Please   don't   talk   about   it,"   she   said.     "It 


ECARTE  WITH  MR.  FOTHERGILL.     179 

seems  as  though  it  must  have  been  spirited  away 
and  it  makes  me  feel  uncomfortable  even  to  think 
about  it." 

We  seated  ourselves  around  the  table  and  Mr. 
Fothergill,  producing  two  packs  of  cards  from  his 
pocket,  began  to  deal.  At  the  end  of  an  hour 
Cecil  had  won  nearly  fifty  pounds,  I  was  as  I  had 
started,  and  De  Cartienne  and  Mr.  Fothergill  were 
about  equal  losers. 

"  I'm  getting  sick  of  this  !  "  I  declared.  "  Leave 
me  out  of  this  deal,  will  you  ?  " 

They  assented  and  I  crossed  the  room  to  where 
Milly  was  sitting.  Pretending  to  examine  the 
fancy-work  upon  which  she  was  engaged,  I  bent 
close  over  her. 

"  Miss  Milly,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  with- 
out letting  the  others  hear,"  I  said  softly.  "  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

She  nodded.  Her  large  blue  eyes,  upturned 
to  mine,  were  filled  with  innocent  wonder. 

I  glanced  towards  the  table.  As  I  had  expected, 
De  Cartienne  was  watching  us,  and  I  could  see 
that  he  was  straining  every  nerve  to  overhear  our 
conversation. 

"  I  think  I'm  about  tired  of  it,  too  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, suddenly  throwing  down  his  cards  and 
rising ;  but  Cecil  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder 
and  forced  him  down. 

"  Nonsense,  man !  You  must  play  out  your 
hand,  at  any  rate.  Then  you  may  leave  off  as 
soon  as  you  like." 

De  Cartienne  resumed  his  seat  with  evident 
reluctance.  I  bent  over  Milly  again. 

"  Has  anyone  else  one  of  those  photographs 
of  your  father  ? "  I  asked.  "  Is  there  anyone 
from  whom  you  could  borrow  one  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  and  looked  towards  the 
empty  frame. 


i8o  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

'  That  was  the  only  one,"  she  answered. 
'  Where  did  he  have  them  taken  ?  " 
'  At  Lawrence's,  just  across  the  way." 
'  And  when  ?  " 

*  About  nine  months  ago,  I  think  it  was.     Why 
do  you  ask,  Mr.  Morton  ?  "  she  added  anxiously. 

"  I  will  tell  you  another  time,"  I  answered,  in 
a  low  tone. 

I  glanced  towards  the  table  as  I  said  this  and 
was  just  in  time  to  see  De  Cartienne  bend  over 
towards  Cecil  and  whisper  something  in  his  ear. 
The  latter  looked  round  at  us  at  once. 

"  You  two  seem  to  have  found  something  in- 
teresting to  talk  about,"  he  remarked,  glancing 
towards  Milly  as  though  requiring  an  explanation. 

"  We    haven't,"     she    answered,    with    a    sigh. 

"  Mr.   Morton   was   just   asking   me Oh,   Mr. 

Morton,  you're  treading  on  my  foot !  " 

I  withdrew  my  foot  and  tried  the  effect  of  a 
warning  glance,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 

"  Mr.  Morton  was  asking  me,"  she  continued, 
"  whether  I  had  not  another  of  those  photographs." 

"  And  have  you — has  anyone  ?  "  interrupted 
De  Cartienne,  fixing  his  piercing  black  eyes  upon 
her. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No  ;  but  perhaps  I  can  get  some.  They  were 
taken  at  Lawrence's  and  I  suppose  he  has  the 
negative." 

I  glanced  quickly  at  De  Cartienne.  He  seemed 
profoundly  uninterested  and  was  trying  to  build 
a  house  of  the  cards  he  had  thrown  down.  Either 
he  must  be  a  perfect  actor,  or  my  vague  suspicions 
were  very  ill-founded  at  that  moment.  I  could 
not  decide  which. 

"  Had  enough  cards,  Cis  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Not  I.  We'll  leave  you  out  for  a  bit,  though. 
Fothergill  and  I  are  going  to  play  ecarteV' 


ECARTE  WITH  MR.  FOTHERGILL,     181 

De  Cartienne  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  threw 
himself  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  pity  you,  then,"  he  said  drily.  "  You'll 
soon  see  the  back  of  that  little  pile  of  winnings. 
FothergilTs  a  bit  too  good  for  you." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  Cecil  answered,  laughing 
confidently.  "  I'm  not  a  bad  hand  at  ecarte 
myself." 

They  began  to  play.  Presently  De  Cartienne 
left  the  room  and  returned  with  two  glasses  in 
his  hand. 

"  Have  a  lemon-squash,  Morton  ? "  he  asked 
carelessly.  "  There's  only  a  drop  of  whisky  in  it." 

I  accepted,  for  I  was  thirsty,  and  half  emptied 
at  a  draught  the  tumbler  which  he  handed  me. 
As  I  put  down  the  glass  I  caught  a  grim  smile  on 
De  Cartienne's  sallow  face.  But  what  it  meant 
I  could  not  tell,  although  it  made  me  strangely 
uneasy. 

I  watched  the  play  for  a  few  minutes  and,  to 
my  surprise,  Cecil  was  still  winning.  Then  gradu- 
ally a  powerful,  overmastering  sleepiness  crept 
over  me.  I  tried  to  stave  it  off  by  walking 
about,  by  talking  to  Milly,  by  concentrating  my 
thoughts  upon  the  play.  It  was  useless.  I  felt 
my  eyes  closing  and  the  sounds  and  voices  in  the 
room  grew  dimmer  and  less  distinct.  For  a  while 
I  remained  in  a  semi-conscious  state — half  awake 
and  half  asleep — by  sheer  force  of  will.  But  in 
the  end  I  was  conquered.  A  mist  hung  before 
my  eyes  and  all  sound  died  away,  I  fell  asleep, 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

A    STARTLING    DISCOVERYa 

WHEN  I  awoke  it  was  with  the  dulled  senses  and 
aching  head  which  usually  follow  either  a  drugged 
sleep  or  an  unnaturally  heavy  one.  I  sat  up  on 
the  sofa,  rubbing  my  eyes  and  staring  around 
in  blank  surprise.  Daylight  was  streaming  in 
through  the  chinks  of  the  drawn  blinds,  but  the 
gas  was  still  burning  with  a  dull,  sickly  light. 

The  table  betrayed  all  the  signs  of  an  all-night 
orgie.  Several  packs  of  cards  were  lying  strewn 
over  the  crumpled,  ash-scattered  cloth.  There 
were  half-a-dozen  tumblers — one  nearly  full,  an- 
other broken  into  pieces — and  several  empty  soda- 
water  bottles  lay  on  the  floor. 

But  the  most  ghastly  sight  of  all  was  Cecil's 
face.  He  sat  on  a  chair  drawn  up  to  the  table, 
his  chin  fallen  upon  his  folded  arms,  dark  rims 
under  his  eyes,  and  without  a  single  vestige  of 
colour  in  his  ashen  face.  There  was  no  one  else 
in  the  room. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  hurried  to  his  side. 

"  Cecil !  Cecil !  "  I  cried.  "  What's  the  matter, 
old  chap  ?  Wake  up,  for  Heaven's  sake,  and 
tell  me  what  has  happened  !  " 

He  pulled  himself  together  and  struggled  to  his 
feet.  Then  he  looked  round  the  room  and  finally 

182 


A  STARTLING  DISCOVERY^  183 

into  my  anxious  face,  with  an  odd  little  laugh, 
strained  and  unnatural. 

"  I've  about  done  it  this  time,"  he  said.  "  By 
George  !  Let's  clear  out  of  this  before  Milly  comes 
down.  I  shouldn't  like  her  to  know  that  we've 
been  here  all  night.  Poor  little  girl !  She'd  never 
forgive  herself  for  letting  us  play  here  at  all." 

"  Where  are  the  others  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Fothergill  has  gone  back  to  his  hotel  and 
Leonard  went  with  him.  I  said  I'd  wake  you  and 
we'd  follow  directly,  but  I  think  I  must  have  been 
dozing." 

"  We  must  go,  and  at  once,"  I  said,  "  or  we 
shall  never  be  back  before  the  doctor  gets  down. 
Come,  Cecil !  Don't  tell  me  anything  yet." 

I  linked  my  arm  in  his  and  drew  him  out  of  the 
room.  We  crept  softly  down  the  passage  and 
out  at  the  back  door.  I  was  afraid  to  ask  him 
questions  and  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  disclose 
what  had  happened,  so  we  hurried  along  in  silence, 
Cecil  baring  his  head  to  the  strong  sea-breeze 
which  blew  in  our  teeth  when  we  had  left  the  town 
behind  us  and  had  all  the  effect  of  a  strong,  in- 
vigorating tonic. 

At  every  step  I  felt  my  head  grow  clearer,  and, 
glancing  at  Cecil,  I  saw  the  colour  creeping  back 
into  his  cheeks  with  every  breath  he  took  of  the 
salt  air  which  came  sweeping  across  the  sandy, 
barren  country  between  us  and  the  sea. 

When  at  last  we  reached  our  destination  and 
had  cautiously  made  our  way  up  to  the  back  en- 
trance, he  hesitated.  Opposite  to  us  was  the  pine- 
plantation,  which  led  down  to  the  sea,  and  between 
the  thickly  growing  black  trunks  a  curious  light 
shone  and  glistened.  I  had  lived  all  my  life  in  the 
country  and  knew  well  what  it  was,  but  Cecil 
turned  round  and  watched  it  with  amazement. 

"Look,    Phill"    he   whispered.     "What's    that 


184  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET; 

light  ?  It  seems  as  though  the  plantation  were 
on  fire  !  " 

"  It's  the  sunrise,"  I  answered.  "  Shall  we  go 
and  see  it  ?  " 

He  nodded,  and  we  stole  across  the  lawn,  through 
the  wicket-gate  and  along  the  narrow,  winding 
path,  thickly  strewn  with  dried  leaves  and  fir- 
cones, down  towards  the  shore.  We  were  just  in 
time  to  see  the  final  effect.  A  rim  of  the  sun  had 
already  crept  into  sight,  casting  brilliant,  scin- 
tillating reflections  upon  the  dancing  waves,  and 
the  eastern  sky  was  tinged  from  the  arc  of  the 
heavens  to  the  horizon  with  streaks  of  brilliantly- 
hued,  fantastically-shaped  cloudlets,  strewn  upon  a 
background  of  the  lightest  transparent  blue. 

Far  off  the  sails  of  a  few  fishing-smacks  glittered 
like  gossamer  wings  upon  a  fairy  ocean  ;  and  farther 
away  still,  where  the  banks  of  orange  and  azure 
clouds  seemed  to  sink  into  a  blazing  sea  of  polished 
glass,  the  white  funnel  of  a  passing  steamer  shone 
like  a  pillar  of  fire. 

It  was  a  sight  so  new  to  Cecil  that  he  stood  spell- 
bound, with  a  look  of  wondering  awe  upon  his 
pale  face.  And  it  was  not  until  we  had  gazed  to 
the  full  and  were  retracing  our  steps  in  silence 
through  the  plantation  that  I  cared  to  speak  of 
the  events  of  the  night. 

"  Philip,"  he  said  solemnly,  when  I  mentioned 
the  subject,  "  there's  no  one  to  blame  for  this 
night's  work  but  myself.  To  do  Leonard  and 
that  fellow  Fothergill  justice,  they  both  continually 
urged  me  to  leave  off  playing,  but  I  wouldn't.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  luck  must  change  at  every 
deal  and  so  I  went  on,  and  on,  and  on.  What  a 
fool  I  was  !  " 

"  And  the  result  ?  "  I  asked  anxiously. 

"  I  owe  Fothergill  between  six  and  seven  hundred 
pounds  and  I  haven't  as  many  shillings." 


A  STARTLING  DISCOVERY.  185 

I  stopped  short  and  looked  at  him  in  horror. 

"  Seven  hundred  pounds !  Why,  Cis,  how  on 
earth  came  you  to  play  up  to  that  figure  and  with 
a  man  you  know  so  little  of  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  man's  all  right — at  least,  he's  no 
sharper,  if  you  mean  that !  "  Cecil  answered 
doggedly.  "  It  was  my  own  fault  altogether. 
He's  a  better  player  than  I  am,  and,  of  course, 
won." 

"  But  he  ought  not  to  have  gone  on,"  I  pro- 
tested. "  I  don't  know  much  about  such  matters, 
but  I  feel  sure  that  a  gentleman  wouldn't  sit  down 
and  win  seven  hundred  pounds  from  a  boy  of  your 
age.  You're  not  eighteen  yet,  you  know,  Cis." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  what  age  has  got  to  do  with 
it,"  .3  answered  gloomily.  "  As  regards  Fother- 
gill,  I  don't  feel  particularly  sweet  on  him  just 
now,  as  you  may  imagine  ;  but  it  wasn't  his  fault 
at  all.  I  made  him  go  on,  and,  you  know,  the 
winner  is  a  great  deal  in  the  hands  of  the  loser  in 
a  case  of  that  sort.  He  kept  on  wanting  to  go 
and  he  went  at  last.  I  should  have  gone  on  play- 
ing till  now,  I  think,  if  he  hadn't." 

"  When  does  he  expect  you  to  settle  up  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I've  got  to  see  him  this  afternoon.  I  say, 
you'll  come  down  with  me,  old  chap,  won't  you  ?  " 
he  pleaded.  "  I  shall  have  to  ask  for  a  little  time, 
of  course." 

"  Yes,  I'll  go  with  you,"  I  promised.  "  How 
shall  you  try  to  raise  the  money  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea,"  he  acknowledged 
gloomily.  "  I've  overdrawn  my  allowance  already 
several  hundreds.  The  mater  is  as  poor  as  a  church 
mouse  and  I  simply  daren't  ask  my  Uncle  Rave- 
nor,  though  he's  as  rich  as  Crresus.  He  might 
disinherit  me." 

We   reached  the  house  and  stole  softly  up  the 


186  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

back  stairs  to  our  rooms.  Cecil  threw  himself, 
dressed  as  he  was,  upon  the  bed.  But  I  was  in  no 
humour  for  sleep,  and  after  a  cold  bath  I  dressed 
and  got  downstairs  in  time  for  breakfast.  To  my 
surprise,  De  Cartienne  was  in  the  morning-room, 
carefully  dressed  as  usual  and  with  no  sign  in  his 
appearance  or  manner  of  having  been  out  all  night. 
He  was  chatting  lightly  with  Dr.  Randall  about 
some  trivial  matter  connected  with  the  meeting 
which  the  latter  had  attended  the  previous  evening. 

"  Cecil  is  late  again,"  remarked  the  doctor, 
with  a  frown,  as  we  began  breakfast.  "  James,  go 
to  Lord  Silchester's  room  and  ask  him  how  long 
he  will  be." 

James  retired  and  reappeared  in  a  few  minutes 
with  a  grave  face. 

"  Lord  Silchester  desires  me  to  beg  you  to  excuse 
him  this  morning,"  was  the  message  which  he  brought 
back.  "  He  has  a  very  bad  headache  and  has 
had  no  sleep." 

Dr.  Randall,  who  was  one  of  the  kindest-hearted 
men  breathing,  looked  compassionate. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  he  said.  "  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear 
that !  Certainly  we  will  excuse  him.  Will  he 
have  anything  sent  up  ?  " 

"  A  cup  of  tea,  sir,  only.  I  have  ordered  it  in 
the  kitchen." 

"  Poor  fellow !  It's  strange  how  he  suffers 
from  these  attacks  !  i'm  afraid  he  can't  be  very 
strong,"  remarked  the  doctor  absently,  as  he  but- 
tered himself  a  piece  of  toast. 

De  Cartienne  and  I  exciianged  glances,  but  we 
said  nothing. 

Directly  after  breakfast  the  doctor  took  us  into 
the  study  and  we  began  the  morning's  labours. 
It  happened  that,  in  working  out  a  series  of  alge- 
Draic  questions,  De  Cauienne  and  I  used  a  great 
deal  of  paper,  and  when  the  doe  tor  looked  for  a 


A  STARTLING  DISCOVERY.  187 

piece  to  explain  the  working  of  a  rather  stiff  quad- 
ratic, the  rack  was  empty. 

"  Have  either  of  you  a  piece  of  wastepaper  in 
your  pockets  ?  "  he  asked.  "  The  back  of  an 
envelope,  or  anything  will  do.  I  see  it  is  lunch- 
time,  so  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  sending  for  any.'* 

I  felt  in  all  my  pockets,  but  they  were  empty. 
De  Cartienne  drew  an  envelope  from  his  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  the  doctor.  The  moment  he  had 
parted  with  it,  however,  I  saw  him  give  a  sudden 
start  and  he  seemed  as  though  about  to  make  an 
effort  to  regain  possession  of  it.  But  he  was  too 
late,  for  the  doctor  was  already  fast  covering  it 
with  figures. 

De  Cartienne  quitted  his  seat  and  stood  looking 
over  his  shoulder,  probably  hoping  that  I  should 
do  the  same.  But  I  remained  where  I  was,  taking 
care  to  manifest  my  interest  in  the  problem  by 
asking  frequent  questions.  The  moment  the  doctor 
had  finished  his  rapid  figuring  and  solved  the 
equation,  I  stretched  out  my  hand  for  it  eagerly. 

"  May  I  see  it,  sir  ?  "  I  begged.  "  I  fancy  you've 
made  a  mistake  in  the  values." 

He  handed  it  across  the  table  at  once,  with  a 
quiet  smile. 

"  I  think  not,  Morton,"  he  said.  "  Examine  it 
for  yourself." 

De  Cartienne  moved  round  to  my  side,  with 
nervously  twitching  lips  and  an  ugly  light  in  his 
eyes. 

"  One  moment,  Morton,"  he  said.  "  I  won't 
keep  it  longer." 

I  laid  a  hand  upon  it,  and  pushed  him  back 
with  the  other. 

"  My  turn  first,  please.  Isn't  that  so,  Dr. 
Randall  ?  " 

He  nodded  genially,  not  noticing  the  suppressed 
excitement  in  De  Cartienne's  manner. 


188  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

"  Certainly.  I'm  glad  to  find  you  both  so  in- 
terested in  it.  Let  me  know  about  this  mistake 
at  lunch-time,  Morton,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  I'm 
going  for  a  stroll  round  the  garden  now,  and  I 
should  advise  you  to  do  the  same.  We've  had  a 
close  morning's  work." 

He  rose  and  left  the  room.  De  Cartienne 
watched  the  door  close  and  then  turned  to  me. 

"  Morton,"  he  said  quickly,  "  I  want  that  en- 
velope. There  are  some  memoranda  on  the  re- 
verse side  which  concern  my  private  affairs.  I 
need  not  say  more,  I  suppose." 

"  Keep  your  hands  to  yourself,  De  Cartienne  !  " 
I  answered,  shaking  him  off.  "I  shall  not  give 
you  the  envelope  till  I  have  examined  it." 

"  You  cad  !  "  he  hissed  out,  his  voice  shaking 
with  fury.  "  How  dare  you  attempt  to  pry  into 
my  private  affairs  ?  Give  me  the  envelope,  or 
I'll " 

"  You'll  what  ?  "  I  answered,  standing  up,  putting 
the  envelope  in  my  pocket  and  facing  him.  "  Look 
here,  De  Cartienne,  I'm  not  going  to  attempt  to 
justify  my  conduct  to  you.  On  the  face  of  it,  it 
may  seem  to  be  taking  a  mean  advantage,  but  I 
don't  care  a  fig  about  that.  I've  made  up  my 
mind  what  to  do,  and  all  the  blustering  in  the  world 
won't  make  me  alter  it.  I  am  going  to  look  at  the 
reverse  side  of  this  envelope.  You " 

I  ceased  and  with  good  reason,  for,  with  a  sudden, 
panther-like  spring,  he  had  thrown  himself  upon 
me,  and  his  slender  white  fingers  were  grasping 
at  my  throat.  It  was  a  brief  struggle,  but  a  des- 
perate one,  for  he  clung  to  me  with  a  strength 
which  seemed  altogether  out  of  proportion  to  his 
slim  body  and  long,  thin  arms. 

I  was  in  no  mood  for  trifling,  however,  and, 
suddenly  putting  forth  all  my  strength,  I  seized 
him  by  the  middle,  and  sent  him  backwards,  with 


A   STARTLING    DISCOVERY.  189 

a  crash  of  fallen  furniture,  into  a  corner  of  the 
room.  Before  he  could  recover  himself,  I  drew 
out  the  envelope  from  my  pocket  and  looked 
at  it. 

There  was  nothing  on  the  reverse  side  but  the 
address  and  the  postmark.  They  were  quite  suffi- 
cient for  me,  however.  The  postmark  was  Mell- 
borough  and  the  handwriting  was  the  peculiar, 
cramped  handwriting  of  Mr.  Marx, 


CHAPTER   XXXIIj 

FORESTALLED. 

FOR  a  full  minute  neither  of  us  moved.  Then 
De  Cartienne  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  walked 
to  the  door. 

"  Here,  take  this ! "  I  said,  holding  out  the 
envelope  towards  him.  "  The  private  memoranda 
upon  it  may  be  useful  to  you." 

He  snatched  it  from  my  fingers  and  tore  it  into 
atoms.  Then  he  walked  quietly  away,  with  an 
evil  look  upon  his  face. 

At  luncheon  Cecil  appeared,  white  as  a  ghost, 
and  looking  anxious  and  disturbed,  as  well  he 
might.  Dr.  Randall  was  quite  uneasy  at  his  appear- 
ance, and  acquiesced  at  once  when  I  asked  for  per- 
mission to  take  him  for  a  drive  during  the  after- 
noon. De  Cartienne  sat  silent  throughout  the  meal, 
except  for  a  few  sympathising  sentences  to  Cecil, 
and  left  the  room  at  the  first  opportunity. 

At  three  o'clock  my  dog  cart  was  brought  round 
and  Cecil  and  I  drove  away.  We  scarcely  spoke 
until  we  were  in  the  streets  of  Drayton,  and  then, 
rousing  myself,  I  bade  him  pluck  his  spirits  up, 
and  assured  him  vaguely  that  I  would  see  him 
through  it  somehow.  He  thanked  me,  but  seemed 
very  despondent. 

We  went  to  the  "  Bull,"  and  inquired  for  Mr, 
190 


FORESTALLED*  191 

Fothergill.  He  was  in  the  coffee-room,  we  were 
told,  and  there  we  found  him  lunching. 

"  So  good  of  you  fellows  to  come  and  look  me 
up ! "  he  exclaimed,  welcoming  us  cordially. 
"  Waiter,  a  bottle  of  Pommery.  Don't  shake  your 
head  now,  Lord  Silchester.  It'll  do  you  good. 
I  can  see  you're  a  bit  seedy  this  morning." 

Cecil  smiled  feebly. 

"  I'm  not  quite  up  to  the  mark,"  he  admitted. 
"  Just  a  bit  of  a  headache — that's  all.  I  say, 
Mr.  Fothergill,"  he  went  on,  plunging  at  once 
in  medias  res,  "  I'm  awfully  sorry,  but  I  shan't 
be  able  to  settle  up  with  you  to-day." 

"  Settle  up  with  me  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Fothergill, 
putting  down  his  glass  untasted,  and  looking  sur- 
prised "  I  don't  understand  you.  Settle  what 
up?" 

"  Why,  the  money  I  lost  last  night,"  Cecil  ex- 
plained. 

Mr.  Fothergill  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
looked  into  Cecil's  white,  anxious  face  with  an 
astonishment  which,  if  simulated,  was  certainly 
admirably  done.  Then  he  broke  into  a  little  laugh. 

"  My  dear  Lord  Silchester,"  he  said  energetically, 
"  you  can't  for  one  moment  suppose  that  I  ex- 
pected anything  of  the  sort.  Why,  I  scarcely 
took  our  play  seriously  at  all,  and  I  should  very 
much  prefer  that  we  said  no  more  about  it.  Pray 
don't  be  offended,"  he  added,  hastily,  for  the  sen- 
sitive colour  had  flushed  into  Cecil's  cheeks.  "  I'll 
tell  you  how  we'll  arrange  it.  You  shall  give  me 
your  I  O  U's  and  pay  them  just  as  it  is  convenient. 
Any  time  within  the  next  five  or  six  years  will  do. 
But  as  to  taking  a  sum  like  that  from  a  b — a  man 
who  is  not  of  age — why,  it's  absurd  !  I  feel  rather 
ashamed  of  myself  for  having  been  so  fortunate." 

A  look  of  intense  relief  had  stolen  into  Cecil's 
face,  but  the  reaction  was  a  little  too  sudden.  He 


MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

left  us  abruptly  and  stood  looking  out  of  the  window 
for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  he  returned,  smiling, 
and  held  out  his  hand  to  Mr.  Fothergill. 

"  Mr.  Fothergill,  you're  a  brick  !  "  he  declared 
emphatically. 

"Not  another  word,  please ! "  Mr.  Fothergill 
answered,  smiling.  "  Now,  look  here,  Lord  Sil- 
chester,"  he  added.  "  Drink  this  glass  of  wine." 

Cecil  obeyed  him  promptly. 

"  And  now  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  have  some 
luncheon  with  me,"  Mr.  Fothergill  continued. 
"  I  don't  care  what  you  say.  I  don't  believe  you've 
eaten  anything  to-day.  Waiter,  bring  me  those 
other  cutlets  I  ordered  and  the  game-pie,  and — 
yes,  I  think  we  might  venture  on  another  bottle 
of  wine." 

"  Mr.  Morton,  you  must  join  us.  Clever  animal 
of  yours — that  one  outside,"  he  rattled  on  lightly  ; 
"  but  I'd  have  her  taken  out  for  an  hour,  if  I  were 
you.  It's  too  cold  for  her  to  be  standing  about. 
Shall  I  ring  the  ostler's  bell  and  tell  him  ?  And 
then,  if  you  will,  you  might  drive  me  down  to  the 
station,  when  you're  ready  to  go.  My  train  leaves 
a  little  before  five." 

Whatever  my  former  opinion  of  Mr.  Fothergill 
had  been,  I  felt  bound  to  change  it  now.  He  was 
showing  tact,  good-nature,  and  a  decidedly  gentle- 
manly spirit.  I  had,  in  truth,  eaten  very  little 
lunch  at  Borden  Tower  and  Cecil  none  at  all ; 
and  we  proceeded  to  make  good  the  omission. 

When,  an  hour  or  two  later,  we  left  Mr.  Fother- 
gill at  the  station,  we  were  both  of  one  mind  con- 
cerning him,  and  we  had  both  promised  to  accept 
his  cordial  invitation  to  run  up  to  town  and  see 
him  before  long. 

On  our  way  home  Cecil  stopped  at  the  "  Rose  and 
Crown,"  and  went  in  to  make  his  peace  with  Milly. 
I  promised  to  call  for  him  and  went  on  to  the  photo- 


FORESTALLED.  193 

grapher's  up  the  street.  Mr.  Lawrence  appeared 
at  once  from  a  back-room,  which,  I  presume,  was 
the  studio,  wiping  his  hands  upon  a  not  particularly 
clean-looking  towel. 

I  paid  him  in  advance  for  a  dozen  photographs, 
promising  to  come  in  and  have  them  taken  next 
time  I  was  in  the  town.  Then  I  explained  what 
was  really  the  purport  of  my  visit :  Had  he  pre- 
served the  negative  of  the  photograph  which  he 
had  taken  of  Mr.  Hart  ? 

Certainly  he  had,  he  assured  me.  I  told  him 
about  the  date  and  his  head  and  shoulders  dis- 
appeared into  a  cupboard.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
withdrew  them  and  called  out  sharply  for  his 
assistant. 

"  Fenton,"  he  exclaimed  angrily,  "  you've  been 
at  this  cupboard  !  " 

Fenton,  who  was  a  tall,  ungainly  lad  of  most 
unprepossessing  appearance,  shook  his  head. 

"  I  haven't  been  near  it,  sir  !  "  he  declared. 

Mr.  Lawrence  looked  incredulous. 

"  There  is  a  negative  missing  !  "  he  said  sharply* 
"  No  one  else  could  have  meddled  with  it !  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  the  boy 
answered  doggedly.  "  Perhaps  it's  upstairs." 

Mr.  Lawrence  abandoned  his  search. 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me  a  moment,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  I'll  have  a  look  among  the  old  ones." 

I  nodded  and  he  closed  the  door  and  disappeared. 
Fenton  would  have  gone,  too,  but  I  stopped  him. 

"  Look  here  !  "  I  said  quickly  ;    "  see  this  ?  " 

I  held  out  a  five-pound  note. 

He  opened  his  ^eyes  wide  and  looked  at  it 
longingly. 

"  Well,  it's  yours  if  you'll  tell  me  what  you've 
done  with  the  negative  of  Mr.  Hart's  photograph. 
Quick  !  " 

He  hesitated, 

N 


194  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  Should  you  split  to  the  governor  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,  I  sold  it  for  a  sovereign  to  a  young 
gentleman  what  inquired  for  it  a  few  minutes  ago. 
A  thin,  dark  chap  he  is.  I  don't  know  his  name, 
but  I've  seen  him  driving  with  you." 

I  threw  him  the  note  and  left  the  place.  I  had 
now  no  doubt  about  the  matter  at  all.  De  Car- 
tienne  had  stolen  the  photograph  of  Mr.  Hart 
from  the  "  Rose  and  Crown,"  and  had  bought  the 
negative.  Why  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXIII, 

A  GLEAM  OF  LIGHT. 

AFTER  leaving  the  photographer's  shop,  I  walked 
slowly  across  the  little  market-place  and  down 
the  narrow  street  towards  the  "  Rose  and 
Crown."  My  recent  discovery  had  given  me  a 
good  deal  to  think  about,  or  rather,  had  afforded 
me  matter  for  a  variety  of  wild  conjectures,  but 
I  could  follow  none  of  them  to  a  very  satis- 
factory conclusion.  I  was  like  a  man  groping 
in  the  dark.  I  had  stumbled  upon  several 
very  extraordinary  and  inexplicable  facts ;  but 
what  connection,  if  any,  they  had  with  one 
another,  or  how  to  link  them  together,  I  could 
not  tell. 

I  have  always  been  somewhat  absent-minded 
and,  with  my  brain  in  such  a  whirl,  it  was 
not  a  very  remarkable  thing  that  I  took  a 
wrong  turning.  The  moment  I  had  discovered 
it  I  stopped  short  and  looked  round.  I  was  in 
a  little  street  that  led  past  the  back  entrance  of 
the  "  Rose  and  Crown."  It  was  scarcely  a  public 
thoroughfare. 

I  had  already  turned  on  my  heel  to  retrace  my 
steps,  when  I  saw  two  figures  standing  talking  at 
the  back  door  of  the  inn.  One  I  knew  at  a  glance 
to  be  Milly  Hart.  Her  companion  was  standing 


196  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

with  his  back  to  me,  a  muffler  round  his  neck 
and  his  cap  slouched  over  his  eyes.  In  the  gloom 
of  the  fast-falling  twilight  I  did  not  at  first  recog- 
nise him ;  but  when  he  turned  round  with  a 
start  at  the  sound  of  my  approaching  foot- 
steps and  withdrew  his  arm  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment from  around  his  companion's  waist,  some- 
thing in  the  motion  and  figure  seemed  familiar 
to  me. 

My  approach  seemed  to  discompose  them  not 
a  little.  Milly  stepped  back  at  once  into  the  door- 
way and  disappeared ;  her  companion,  without 
waiting  to  make  any  adieu,  turned  round  and 
walked  swiftly  away.  As  he  crossed  the  street 
to  make  use  of  the  only  exit  from  it — a  narrow 
passage  leading  through  a  court  —  I  had  a 
better  view  of  him.  He  kept  his  back  to  me  as 
much  as  possible  and  seemed  to  be  using  every 
endeavour  to  escape  recognition.  But  although 
I  could  not  be  quite  certain,  I  was  pretty 
sure  that  it  was  Leonard  de  Cartienne  —  de 
Cartienne,  who  never  missed  an  opportunity  of 
sneering  at  Milly's  innocent  blue  eyes  and  baby 
face. 

I  turned  back,  and  hurried  round  to  the  front 
entrance  of  the  "  Rose  and  Crown."  In  the  parlour 
I  found  Cecil  and  Milly  sitting  very  close  together 
upon  a  sofa. 

"  Hallo,  old  chap,  you  haven*t  been  long !  " 
remarked  Cecil,  rising  reluctantly. 

"  I  should  have  been  here  before,"  I  answered, 
looking  steadily  at  Milly,  "  but  I  took  a  wrong 
turning  and  got  round  the  back  of  this  place 
somehow.  Saw  you,  didn't  I,  Miss  Milly  ?  "  I 
remarked. 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  and  looked  at  me  won- 
deringly  out  of  her  placid  blue  eyes. 

"  Me  ?     Oh,  no  !     I  have  only  just  come  down- 


A  GLEAM  OF  LIGHT.  197 

stairs,  have  I  not,  Cecil  ?  It  must  have  been  one 
of  the  maids." 

Milly  and  I  exchanged  a  steady  gaze,  her  eyes 
meeting  mine  without  drooping  and  her  manner 
betraying  only  a  mild  surprise.  It  was  a  revela- 
tion to  me,  a  lesson  which  I  did  not  easily 
forget. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,"  I  said,  turn- 
ing away.  "  It  was  rather  dark  and  no  doubt  I 
was  mistaken.  Strange,  too  ;  I  thought  it  was  De 
Cartienne  with  whom  you  were  talking." 

Cecil  laughed  carelessly. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  must  have  been  dream- 
ing," he  said ;  "  De  Cartienne  has  not  been  here 
at  all." 

"  Ready,  Cecil  ? "  I  asked,  abandoning  the 
subject.  "  I  think  we've  kept  Bess  waiting  about 
long  enough." 

"  I'll  come,"  he  replied,  drawing  on  his  gloves. 
"  I've  scarcely  had  a  moment  with  you,  Milly, 
though,  have  I  ?  No  news  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  sadly  and  the  big  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes.  There  was  no  mistaking  her 
earnestness  now. 

"  None  about  my  father.  My  uncle  and  aunt 
are  coming  to  stay  here.  I  expect  them  to- 
night." 

"  Horrid  nuisance  that  is ! "  remarked  Cecil, 
sotto  voce.  "  Never  mind,  you  won't  be  so  lonely, 
little  woman,  will  you  ?  And  you  won't  have 
so  much  to  look  after.  I  must  take  you  for 
a  drive  as  soon  as  we  get  a  fine,  clear  day ; 
that'll  bring  some  colour  into  your  cheeks.  Good- 
bye !  " 

She  came  to  the  door  and  watched  us  drive  off. 
Cecil  took  the  reins  and  I  climbed  to  his  side,  and, 
folding  my  arms,  sat  for  a  while  in  gloomy  silence. 
Then  suddenly  a  glecim  of  light,  or  what  I  hoped 


I98  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

might  prove  so,  broke  in  upon  me  and  I  laid  my 
hand  upon  Cecil's  arm. 

"  Pull  up,  old  chap — quick  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

He  did  so,  and  looked  at  me  wonderingly. 

"  Turn  round  and  drive  back  again  as  fast  as 
you  can,"  I  said,  my  voice  trembling  a  "little 
with  excitement ;  "  I  want  to  ask  Milly  Hart  a 
question,"; 


CHAPTER   XXXIV, 

DR.  SCHOFIELD'S  OPINION. 

IN  ten  minutes  we  were  in  the  streets  of  Little 
Drayton  again,  and  Cecil  had  brought  the  dog  cart 
to  a  standstill  outside  the  "Rose  and  Crown."  He 
would  have  gone  in  with  me,  but  I  begged  him  not 
to.  I  jumped  down  and  walked  straight  into  the 
little  parlour.  Milly  was  sitting  there  alone,  gazing 
absently  into  the  fire.  She  looked  up  in  surprise 
at  my  sudden  entrance,  and  half  rose. 

"  Milly,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,"  I  said, 
going  up  to  her  side.  "  It's  about  your  father's 
disappearance." 

"  Yes  !  "  she  exclaimed  eagerly.  "  What  is  it  ? 
Oh,  do  tell  me  quickly  !  " 

"  It's  only  an  idea.  Did  Mr.  Hart  ever  suffer 
from  any  brain  disorder  at  any  time  ?  That's  all 
I  want  to  know.  Has  his  mind  always  been  quite 
strong  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment  and  my  heart 
beat  fast.  Looking  at  her  closely,  I  could  see  that 
the  colour  had  flushed  into  her  cheeks  and  there 
was  a  troubled  light  in  her  eyes. 

"  He  has  had  one  or  two  severe  illnesses,"  she 
admitted  slowly  ;  "  brain  fever  once  ;  and  I'm 
afraid  he  used  to  drink  too  much  now  and  then. 
The  doctor  told  him  that  he  must  be  very  careful 
not  to  excite  himself." 

199 


200  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

"  Who  was  the  doctor^and  where  does  he  live  ?  " 
I  asked  quickly. 

"  Dr.  Schofield.  He  lives  on  the  Lincoln  Road, 
about  a  mile  away.  Why  have  you  asked  me 
this  ?  "  she  added  anxiously. 

I  evaded  a  direct  reply. 

"  Never  mind  now,"  I  said.  "  If  anything  comes 
of  it,  I  will  let  you  know." 

She  tried  to  detain  me  with  further  questions, 
but  I  hurried  away  and  she  did  not  follow  me  out 
of  the  door. 

"  Cis,"  I  said,  as  I  scrambled  up  to  his  side,  "  I 
want  you  to  go  home  by  the  Lincoln  Road  and 
call  at  Dr.  Schofield's.  It  isn't  far  out  of  the  way." 

He  nodded. 

"  All  right.  You  haven't  found  out  anything 
about  old  Hart,  have  you  ?  What  was  the  question 
you  went  back  to  ask  Milly  ?  " 

"  Only  about  her  father's  health.  No  ;  I  haven't 
found  out  anything.  It's  only  an  idea  of  mine  I 
want  to  clear  up." 

Cecil  looked  as  though  he  thought  I  might  have 
told  him  what  the  idea  was,  but  he  said  nothing. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  pulled  up  outside  a  neat,  red- 
brick house,  which,  as  a  shining  brass  plate  indi- 
cated, was  Dr.  Schofield's  abode. 

The  doctor  was  in  and  disengaged.  He  came 
at  once  into  the  waiting-room,  where  I  had  been 
shown — a  respectable  family  practitioner,  with  in- 
telligent face  and  courteous  manner. 

I  explained  my  position  as  an  acquaintance  of 
Miss  Hart's,  interested  in  the  mysterious  disappear- 
ance of  hei  father.  It  had  occurred  to  me  to  make 
inquiries  a»  to  the  state  of  his  health,  or,  rather, 
his  constitution,  I  added.  Perhaps  his  prolonged 
absence  might  be  accounted  for  by  sudden  and 
dangerous  illness.  Could  Dr.  Schofield  give  me  any 
information  ? 


DR.  SCHOFIELD'S  OPINION.          201 

His  manner  was  encouraging.  He  bade  me  take 
a  seat  and  went  into  the  matter  gravely. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said,  "  I  am  rather 
surprised  that  I  have  not  been  appealed  to  before. 
In  an  ordinary  case  I  should  feel  bound  to  maintain 
a  strict  secrecy  with  regard  to  the  ailments  of  my 
patients,  but  this  is  different.  As  you  have  asked 
me  this  question,  I  feel  bound  to  tell  you  what  I 
would  not  otherwise  divulge.  Mr.  Hart  was  my 
patient  on  two  several  occasions  during  the  last 
two  years  for  delirium  tremens,  and  once  within  my 
recollection  he  had  a  distinct  touch  of  brain  fever." 

"  His  mind  would  not  be  very  strong,  then  ?  "  I 
remarked. 

Dr.  Schofield  hesitated. 

"  He  had  a  wonderful  constitution,"  he  said 
slowly — "  a  constitution  of  iron.  In  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances I  cannot  bring  myself  to  think  that 
he  could  suddenly  and  completely  have  lost  his 
reason.  But  supposing  he  had  received  some 
severe  shock,  such  as  a  railway  accident,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort,  why,  then  it  would  be  possible, 
even  probable,  he  might  become  a  raving  lunatic 
in  a  moment." 

"  And  would  his  madness  be  incurable  ?  " 

"  If  properly  treated,  with  a  knowledge  of  his 
past  ailment — no,"  answered  Dr.  Schofield  ;  "  but 
if  he  were  treated  just  like  an  ordinary  madman 
in  a  pauper  lunatic  asylum,  he  would  probably 
never  recover.  He  would  become  worse  and  worse 
and  finally  oe  incurable.  I  see  two  objections  to 
accepting  any  theory  of  this  sort  as  accounting 
for  his  disappearance,"  the  doctor  continued,  after 
a  short  pause.  "  In  the  first  place  the  shock  would 
have  to  be  violent  and  unexpected,  and  this  seems 
improbable ;  in  the  next  place,  he  would  surely 
have  had  some  letter  or  something  about  him 
which  would  have  led  to  his  identification  i " 


203  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  If  the  shock  were  the  result  of  foul  play,  these 
would  be  destroyed,"  I  suggested. 

"  Undoubtedly ;  but  whence  the  foul  play  ? 
Hart  is  known  to  have  had  only  a  few  pounds 
with  him  when  he  left." 

"  Perhaps  he  had  something  in  his  keeping  more 
valuable  than  money,"  I  remarked. 

"  What  ?  " 

"A  secret." 

"  Have  you  any  grounds  for  such  a  belief  ?  "  the 
doctor  asked  curiously. 

I  hesitated.  In  my  own  mind  I  believed  that  I 
had  ;  but  for  the  present,  at  any  rate,  this  was 
best  kept  to  myself.  I  answered  quite  truthfully. 
however. 

"  I  have  made  a  few  inquiries  here  and  there," 
I  said,  "  and  I  have  heard  it  hinted  that  he  had 
some  secret  means  of  replenishing  his  purse.  He  has 
been  known  more  than  once  to  leave  here  with 
only  a  few  sovereigns  in  his  pocket  and  to  come 
back  with  his  sovereigns  turned  into  banknotes." 

"  I  remember  hearing  some  such  tale,"  the  doctor 
remarked.  "  I'm  afraid  it  is  all  rather  vague, 
though." 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Dr.  Schofield  " 
I  assured  him,  rising  to  take  my  leave. 

He  followed  me  to  the  door  and  then  returned 
to  his  interrupted  dinner.  I  mounted  into  the 
dog  cart  and  we  were  soon  bowling  through  the 
darkness  towards  Borden  Tower. 

"  Get  anything  out  of  the  old  chap  ? "  Cecil 
asked. 

"  Not  much.  I'm  just  a  little  wiser  than  I  was 
before,  that's  all.  Beastly  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting 
so  long  !  " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  But  I  say,  Phil,"  he 
added,  "  what  is  this  idea  of  yours  ?  You  can 
tell  me,  can't  you  ?  " 


DR.  SCHOFIELD'S  OPINION.          203 

"  If  it  comes  to  anything,  I  will,"  I  assured  him. 
"  But  at  present  it  is  altogether  too  vague  and 
you  would  only  laugh  at  it.  Don't  ask  me  any- 
thing more  about  it  yet,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

"  You're  very  close,  all  of  a  sudden,"  he  grumbled. 
"  Why  can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  afraid  of  your  letting  it  out  to 
someone  whom  I  don't  want  to  know  anything 
about  it,"  I  answered. 

He  laughed. 

"  Ah,  well,  perhaps  you're  right ! "  he  said. 
"  I  couldn't  keep  anything  back  from  Milly." 

I  echoed  his  laugh,  but  held  my  peace.  It  was 
not  Milly  alone  from  whom  I  wished  my  present 
idea  to  be  kept  a  secret.  In  fact,  I  had  not 
thought  of  Milly  at  all.  I  was  only  anxious  that 
De  Cartienne  should  remain  altogether  in  the  dark 
as  to  my  clue ;  and  for  a  remarkably  good  reason. 


CHAPTER   XXXV; 

AN   INVITATION. 

WE  drove  straight  into  the  courtyard,  having  no 
groom  with  us  and  entered  the  house  from  the 
back.  As  we  passed  the  little  room  on  the  ground 
floor  given  up  for  our  sole  use  as  a  repository  for 
cricket-nets,  fishing-tackle,  guns,  spare  harness, 
and  such  like  appliances,  I  opened  the  door,  in- 
tending to  hang  my  whip  up.  To  my  surprise 
De  Cartienne  was  there  in  an  old  coat,  with  his 
sleeves  turned  up,  cleaning  a  gun.  He  looked  up 
and  greeted  us  as  we  entered. 

"  What  a  time  you  men  have  been  !  What  have 
you  been  up  to  in  Little  Drayton  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  nad  lunch  with  your  friend  Fothergill 
and  shacked  about,"  Cecil  answered.  "  Tell  you 
what,  Len,  he's  a  very  decent  fellow." 

De  Cartienne  was  examining  the  lock  of  his  gun 
with  great  attention,  and  in  the  dusk  I  could  not 
catch  his  expression. 

"  Oh,  Fothergill's  all  right  !  "  he  answered.  "  You 
didn't  find  him  very  hungry  for  his  winnings,  did 
you  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not,"  Cecil  replied  enthusiasti- 
cally. "  Why,  I  believe  he  was  actually  annoyed 
with  himself  for  having  won  at  all.  I've  giver 
him  my  I  O  U's." 

204 


AN  INVITATION,  205 

"  He'll  most  likely  tear  them  up,"  De  Cartienne 
remarked.  "  He's  beastly  rich  and  he  can't  want 
the  money." 

"  Where  did  you  drop  across  him,  Len  ?  "  asked 
Cecil,  seating  himself  upon  a  chest  and  lighting  a 
cigarette. 

"  He's  a  friend  of  my  governor's.  I've  known 
him  ever  since  I  was  a  kid,"  De  Cartienne  answered 
slowly.  "  There,  I  think  that'll  do ! "  critically 
looking  at  the  gleaming  muzzle  which  he  held  in 
his  hand. 

"  Why  this  sudden  fit  of  industry  ?  "  inquired 
Cecil,  yawning.  "  Going  to  do  any  shooting  ?  " 

De  Cartienne  nodded  and  began  deliberately 
pulling  the  gun  to  pieces. 

"  Yes ;  I've  had  a  long  day  indoors  to-day 
and  I  mean  to  make  up  for  it  by  potting  some 
wild  duck  to-morrow.  Hilliers  told  me  that 
he'd  heard  of  some  very  fair  sport  round  by 
Rushey  Ponds  last  week.  You'd  better  come  with 
me." 

"  Thanks,  I'll  see,"  Cecil  answered.  "  I'm  not 
very  keen  on  wild  duck  potting." 

"  Haven't  you  been  out  all  day,  then,  De  Car- 
tienne ?  "  I  asked — "  not  even  to  Drayton  ?  " 

"  Not  outside  the  house,"  he  answered.  "  Do  I 
look  like  it  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  his  slippered  feet,  his  old  clothes, 
and  held  up  his  hands,  black  with  oil  and  grease. 
I  took  in  the  details  of  his  appearance,  feeling  a 
little  bewildered.  It  seemed  barely  possible  that 
he  could  have  been  in  Little  Drayton  an  hour 
ago. 

The  dressing-bell  rang  out  and  we  hurried  off 
to  our  rooms,  for  Dr.  Randall,  easy-going  enough 
in  some  things,  was  strictness  itself  with  regard  to 
our  punctuality  at  dinner-time.  But  no  sooner 
had  I  seen  De  Cartienne  safely  in  his  room  than 


ao6  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

I  softly  made  my  way  downstairs  again  and  crossed 
the  yard  to  the  stables. 

It  was  as  I  had  expected.  The  stall  in  which 
De  Cartienne  kept  his  mare  was  carefully  closed, 
but  through  the  chinks  I  could  see  that  a  lamp 
was  burning  inside. 

I  tried  the  door  softly,  but  it  was  locked.  Then 
I  knocked.  There  was  no  answer.  Turning  away, 
I  entered  the  next  stall  and,  mounting  a  step- 
ladder,  looked  over  the  partition. 

I  saw  very  much  what  I  had  expected  to  see — 
De  Cartienne's  thoroughbred  mare  splashed  all 
over  with  mud  and  still  trembling  with  nervous 
fatigue,  and  by  her  side  Dick,  the  stable-boy,  holding 
a  wet  sponge  in  his  hand  and  looking  up  at  me 
with  a  scared,  disconsolate  expression. 

"  Oh,  it  be  you,  be  it,  Muster  Morton  ?  "  he  ex- 
claimed rather  sullenly. 

I  looked  down  at  Diana. 

"  How  came  she  in  that  exhausted  condition  ?  " 
I  asked.  "  And  why  have  you  locked  the 
door  ?  " 

Dick  hesitated,  and  I  tossed  him  a  half-crown. 

"  The  truth  now,  Dick,"  I  said.  "  And  I  -von't 
let  Mr.  de  Cartienne  know  that  I've  seen  her'' 

He  brightened  up  at  once  and  pocketed  the  h\lf- 
crown. 

"  That's  kind  o*  yer,  sir !  "  he  exclaimed,  ev* 
dently  much  relieved.  "  All  I  know,  sir,  ie  tha^ 
Muster  de  Cartienne  he  come  in  riding  like  mad 
along  the  Drayton  Road  'bout  'arf  an  hour  ago, 
and  he  says,  to  me,  '  Dick,  take  Diana,  lock  her  up 
in  the  stable  and  don't  let  no  one  know  as  she's 
been  out.  Just  attend  to  her  yourself  and  rub 
her  down  carefully,  for  I've  been  obliged  to  ride 
fast.'  And  with  that  he  guv  me  summut  and  hoff 
he  went  into  the  'ouse." 

"  Thank  you,  Dick,"  I  said,  getting  down  from 


AN  INVITATION.  207 

the  ladder,  "  that's  all  I  wanted  to  know."  And  I 
crossed  the  yard  to  the  house  again  and  hurried 
upstairs  to  change  my  things. 

We  had  two  deliveries  of  letters  at  Borden  Tower, 
and  just  as  we  were  leaving  the  dinner-table  that 
evening  the  late  post  arrived.  There  was  a  letter 
for  me,  a  somewhat  unusual  occurrence,  and  a 
single  glance  at  the  arms  and  the  bold,  characteristic 
handwriting  set  me  longing  to  open  it,  for  it  was 
from  Mr.  Ravenor.  As  soon  as  the  cloth  was 
cleared  I  did  so. 

"  My  dear  Philip,"  it  commenced,  "  I  am  thinking 
of  travelling  for  several  years,  perhaps  for  longer, 
and  should  like  to  see  you  before  I  go.  Come  and 
stay  here  for  a  few  days.  I  am  writing  Dr.  Randall 
and  also  Cecil,  who  will  accompany  you.  You 
will  leave  Borden  Tower  to-morrow  and  I  will 
send  to  Mellborough  to  meet  the  5.18.  Bring  some 
clothes,  as  there  will  be  some  people  stopping  here. 
— Yours, 

"  BERNARD  RAVENOR." 

I  looked  up  from  the  letter  with  a  great  sense  of 
relief  and  met  Cecil's  delighted  gaze. 

"  Hurrah,  old  chap  !  "  he  exclaimed,  only  half 
under  his  breath.  i;  Won't  we  have  a  rare  old 
time  ?  " 

"  Cave  !  "  I  whispered,  for  the  doctor  was  looking 
our  way. 

"  More  vacation,"  he  remarked,  in  a  grumbling 
tone,  which  was  made  up  for,  however,  by  a  good- 
natured  smile.  "  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know 
how  Mr.  Ravenor  imagines  you're  ever  going  to 
learn  anything !  However,  I  suppose  you  must 

go" 

De  Cartienne  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  We're  going  to  stay  at  Ravenor  Castle  for  a 
week,"  Cecil  explained,  "  We're  off  to-morrow." 


208  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

I  leaned  forward  and  watched  De  Cartienne's 
face  intently.  There  was  an  expression  in  it  which 
I  could  not  analyse.  It  might  have  been  pleasure, 
or  apprehension,  or  indifference.  Though  I  watched 
him  narrowly,  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  whether 
he  was  more  dismayed  or  gratified  at  the  prospect 
of  our  visit. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIj 

A  METAMORPHOSIS^ 

IT  seemed  almost  as  though  some  magical  meta- 
morphosis had  taken  place  within  the  walls  oi 
Ravenor  Castle.  Directly  we  came  in  sight  of  it 
we  had  the  first  intimation  of  its  altered  aspect. 
Instead  of  the  one  or  two  solitary  lights  shining 
above  the  dark  woods,  it  seemed  a  very  blaze  of 
illumination,  and  when  we  drew  up  at  the  great 
front  door  the  change  was  still  more  apparent. 
Liveried  servants  with  powdered  hair  were  moving 
about  the  hall.  From  open  doors  there  came  the 
sound  of  laughing  voices,  and  even  Mr.  Ravenor's 
manner,  as  he  came  out  to  meet  us,  seemed 
altered. 

"  Come  in  and  have  some  tea  here,"  he  said, 
leading  the  way  to  one  of  the  smaller  rooms.  "  Your 
mother  is  here,  Cecil." 

We  followed  him  into  Lady  Silchester's  favourite 
apartment.  Several  ladies  and  one  or  two  men 
were  lounging  on  divans  and  in  easy  chairs  around 
a  brightly-blazing  fire.  Lady  Silchester,  who  was 
presiding  at  a  green-and-gold  Sevres  tea-service, 
welcomed  us  both  with  a  languid  smile. 

"  My  dear  Cis,  how  you  have  grown  1  "  she  said, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair  and  leisurely  sipping  her 
tea.  "  I  declare  I  had  no  idea  that  I  had  a  son 
your  height,  sir  1  Had  you,  Lord  Penraven  ?  " 

209 


210  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

Lord  Penraven,  who  was  lounging  by  her  side, 
with  his  elbow  upon  the  mantelpiece,  stroked  a 
long,  fair  moustache  vigorously  and  answered  with 
emphasis : 

"  Ton  my  word,  I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea ! 
Seems  almost  impossible  !  " 

"  Let  me  give  you  boys  some  tea  !  "  Lady  Sil- 
chester  said,  in  her  sweetest  tone. 

"  None  for  me,  thanks,  mother,"  replied  Cecil. 
"  Why,  Ag — Miss  Hamilton,  is  that  really  you 
over  in  the  corner  ? "  he  exclaimed,  rising  and 
crossing  the  room.  "  How  awfully  jolly  !  " 

Lady  Silchester  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
turned  to  me. 

"  Mr.  Morton  ?  " 

I  took  the  cup  which  she  had  filled  and  the 
conversation  which  our  entrance  had  interrupted 
flowed  on  again.  Presently  Mr.  Ravenor,  who 
had  been  standing  on  the  hearthrug  talking  to  a 
stately,  grey-haired  lady  who  occupied  the  seat 
of  honour — a  black  oak  arm-chair  drawn  up  to 
the  fire, — moved  over  to  my  side  and  dropped 
into  a  vacant  seat  between  Lady  Silchester  and 
myself. 

"  Well,  Philip,"  he  said  softly,  "  you  seem  lost  in 
thought.  Are  you  wondering  whether  a  magician's 
wand  has  touched  Ravenor  Castle  ?  " 

*'  It  all  seems  very  different,"  I  answered. 

"  Of  course.  Nothing  like  change,  you  know. 
It  is  only  by  comparison  that  we  can  appreciate. 
Stagnation  sharpens  one's  appetite  for  gaiety,  and 
one  must  go  through  a  course  of  overwork  before 
one  can  taste  the  full  sweetness  of  an  idle  country 
life." 

Then  Mr.  Ravenor  was  silent  for  a  minute,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  and  looking  steadily  into  the 
fire,  and  by  the  dancing,  fitful  light  of  the  flames 
I  could  see  that  the  old  weariness  and  deep  in- 


A  METAMORPHOSIS.  211 

definable  sadness  had  stolen  into  his  pale  face  and 
dark  eyes.  It  was  only  a  passing  change.  The 
sound  of  the  laughing  voices  around  seemed  sud- 
denly to  galvanise  him  into  consciousness  of  the 
role  which  he  was  playing  and  the  expression 
faded  away.  Someone  asked  him  a  question  and 
he  answered  it  with  a  light  jest.  Once  more  he 
was  the  courteous,  smiling  host,  whose  sole  thought 
appeared  to  be  the  entertainment  of  his  guests. 
But  I  knew  that  there  was  a  background. 

The  dressing-bell  rang  and  the  gossiping  assembly 
broke  up.  Mr.  Ravenor,  standing  with  the  opened 
door  in  his  hand,  exchanged  little  happy  speeches 
with  most  of  the  ladies  as  they  swept  out.  When 
they  were  all  gone  he  turned  to  Cecil  and  me  and 
looked  at  us  critically,  with  a  faint  smile  upon  his 
lips. 

"  Well,  are  you  ready  for  your  matric.,  Cecil  ?  " 
he  asked. 

Cecil  made  a  wry  face. 

"  Shall  be  soon,  uncle  !  "  he  declared  hopefully. 
"  I'm  getting  on  now  first  rate.  Morton  here 
makes  me  work  like  a  Trojan." 

"  That's  right !  And  you,  Philip  ?  I  hope  my 
lazy  nephew  doesn't  keep  you  back." 

"  Oh,  Morton's  all  right  for  his  matric.  whenever 
he  likes  to  go  in  for  it !  "  broke  in  Cecil. 

Mr.  Ravenor  nodded. 

"  Good  !  You'd  better  go  and  dress  now,  both 
of  you ;  Richards  is  waiting  to  show  you  your 
rooms." 

We  passed  up  the  great  oak  staircase,  and  on 
the  first  corridor  we  came  face  to  face  with  a  slim 
little  figure  in  a  white  frock,  walking  demurely  by 
the  side  of  her  maid,  with  her  ruddy,  golden  hair 
tumbled  about  her  oval  face  and  an  expectant 
light  in  her  dancing  blue  eyes. 

Directly  she  saw  us  she  flew  into  Cecil's  arms. 


212  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET! 

"  Oh,  Cis,  Cis,  Cis,  how  delightful !  How  glad 
I  am  that  you  have  come  !  They  only  just  told 
me  !  And  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Morton  ?  " 

She  held  out  a  very  diminutive  palm  and  looked 
up  at  me  with  a  beaming  smile. 

"  I'm  quite  well,  thank  you,  Lady  Beatrice,"  I 
answered,  looking  down  with  keen  pleasure  into 
her  sweet,  childish  face,  and  repressing  a  strong 
desire  to  take  her  up  in  my  arms,  as  Cecil  had  done, 
and  give  her  a  kiss. 

'  You  remember  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  answered  ;  "  I  remember  you 
quite  well !  Your  name  is  Philip,  isn't  it  ?  You 
told  me  that  I  might  call  you  by  it." 

"  Well,  we  must  go  now,  dear,"  Cecil  said,  stroking 
her  hair.  "  We've  got  to  dress  for  dinner,  you 
know." 

"  Oh !  "  The  exclamation  was  drawn  out  and 
the  little  face  fell.  Suddenly  it  brightened. 

"  Cecil,  what  do  you  think  ?  I've  got  a  pony, 
a  real  pony  of  my  own.  Will  you  come  for  a  ride 
with  me  to-morrow  ?  Please,  please,  do  I  " 

"  All  right !  "  he  promised  carelessly. 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  looked  up  at  me. 

"  Will  you  come  too,  Philip  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much  indeed,"  I  answered 
unhesitatingly. 

"  Oh,  that's  delightful !  "  she  exclaimed  gleefully. 
"  We  will  have  such  a  nice  ride !  You  shall  see 
Queenie  canter  j  she  does  go  so  fast !  Good-bye 
now ! " 

She  tripped  away  by  the  side  of  her  maid,  turning 
round  more  than  once  to  wave  her  hand  to  us. 
Then  we  hurried  along  to  our  rooms,  which  were 
at  the  end  of  the  wide,  marble-pillared  corridor 
and  opened  one  into  the  other.  Our  portmanteaux 
had  been  placed  in  readiness,  so  dressing  was  not 
a  tedious  business.  I  had  finished  first  and  lounged 


A  METAMORPHOSIS.  213 

in  an  easy  chair,  watching  Cecil  struggle  with  a 
refractory  white  tie. 

"  How  pretty  your  sister  is,  Cis !  "  I  remarked. 

"  Think  so  ?  She's  rather  an  odd  little  thing," 
declared  her  brother,  absently  surveying  himself 
at  last  "with  satisfaction  in  the  long  pier-glass. 
"  Didn't  know  you'd  ever  seen  her  before.  I  say  " 
—with  sudden  emphasis — "  isn't  Aggie  Hamilton  a 
jolly  good-looking  girl  ?  " 

"  I've  scarcely  seen  her  yet,"  I  reminded  him. 
"  Rather  a  chatterbox,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Chatterbox  ?  Not  she  !  "  Cecil  protested  in- 
dignantly. "  Why " 

The  rumble  of  a  gong  reached  us  from  below. 
Cecil  stopped  short  in  his  speech  and  hurried 
me  out  of  the  rgom. 

"  Come  along,  sharp  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  That 
means  dinner  in  ten  minutes,  and  I  promised  to 
get  down  into  the  drawing-room  first  and  introduce 
you  to  Aggie.  Come  on  !  " 

We  descended  into  the  hall  and  a  tall  footman 
threw  open  the  door  of  the  long  suite  of  drawing 
and  ante-rooms  in  which  the  guests  at  the  Castle 
were  rapidly  assembling.  To  me,  who  had  seen 
nothing  of  the  sort  before,  it  was  a  brilliant  sight. 
Four  rooms,  all  of  stately  dimensions  and  all 
draped  with  amber  satin  of  the  same  shade,  were 
thrown  into  one  by  the  upraising  of  heavy,  clinging 
curtains,  and  each  one  seemed  filled  with  groups 
of  charmingly-dressed  women  and  little  knots  of 
men.  A  low,  incessant  buzz  of  conversation  floated 
about  in  the  air,  which  was  laden  with  the  scent 
of  exotics  and  dainty  perfumes.  The  light  was 
brilliant,  but  soft,  for  the  marble  figures  around 
the  walls  held  out  silver  lamps  covered  with  gauzy 
rose-coloured  shades. 

We  passed  through  two  of  the  rooms  before  we 
found  the  young  lady  of  whom  Cecil  was  in  search. 


214  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

Then  we  came  upon  her  suddenly,  sitting  quite 
alone  and  idly  turning  over  the  pages  of  a  book 
of  engravings.  Cecil  jogged  me  excitedly  with 
his  elbow  in  a  manner  which  elsewhere  would  have 
brought  down  anathemas  and  possibly  retribution 
upon  his  head.  As  it  was,  however,  I  had  to  bear 
the  pain  like  a  Spartan. 

"  I  say,  isn't  she  stunning  ?  "  he  whispered. 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  carefully  removing 
myself  from  the  range  of  his  elbow.  Then  we 
approached  her,  and  she  closed  the  book  of  engrav- 
ings with  a  comical  air  of  relief  and  made  room  for 
us  beside  her. 

She  was  even  prettier  than  I  had  expected,  with 
dark  hair  and  eyes,  dazzling  complexion,  a  perfect 
figure  of  the  petite  order,  and  faultless  teeth,  which 
she  was  by  no  means  averse  from  showing.  She 
wore  a  black  lace  gown,  with  a  good  deal  of  scarlet 
about  it  and  a  deep  red  rose  in  her  bosom.  Al- 
together, I  was  scarcely  surprised  at  Cecil's  cap- 
tivation. 

If  not  actually  a  chatterbox,  she  was  certainly 
possessed  of  the  art  of  talking  nonsense  very  volubly, 
and  making  others  talk  it.  Before  dinner  was 
announced  by  a  dignified-looking  functionary  we 
had  got  through  quite  an  amazing  amount  of  con- 
versation. It  fell  to  Cecil's  lot  to  take  in  his  in- 
amorata, whilst  I  was  far  away  behind  with  the 
middle-aged  wife  of  a  country  clergyman.  She 
was  very  pleasant,  though,  and  I  was  quite  content 
to  do  but  little  talking  throughout  the  long  banquet, 
for  it  was  all  new  to  me  and  interesting. 

The  vast  dining-hall — it  was  really  the  picture- 
gallery — the  many  servants  in  rich  liveries,  the 
emblazoned  plate,  the  glittering  glasses,  and  the 
brilliant  snatches  of  conversation  which  floated 
around  me,  all  were  a  revelation.  Very  soon  the 
effect  of  it  passed  away  and  I  was  able  to  choose 


A  METAMORPHOSIS.  215 

my  wines  and  select  my  dishes,  and  was  free  to 
take  part  if  I  chose  in  the  talk.  But  for  that  first 
evening  I  was  content  to  remain  silent  and,  as  far 
as  possible,  unnoticed. 

Dinner,  which  had  seemed  to  me  to  be  growing 
interminable,  came  to  an  end  at  last.  Lady  Sil- 
chester,  at  the  head  of  a  long  file  of  stately  women, 
swept  down  the  polished  floor,  and  the  procession 
departed  with  much  rustling  of  robes.  Some  of 
the  vacant  chairs  were  taken  possession  of  by 
men,  and  already  delicate  blue  clouds  of  smoke 
were  curling  upwards  to  the  vaulted  ceiling.  It 
was  the  short  period  dearer  to  the  heart  of  man 
than  any  during  the  day.  Every  one  stretched 
out  his  stiff  limbs,  filled  his  glass  and  assumed 
his  favourite  attitude.  Voices  were  raised  and 
a  sudden  change  of  tone  crept  in  upon  the  con- 
versation. Only  Mr.  Ravenor  and  a  few  of  the 
older  guests  appeared  to  be  still  engrossed  in  the 
discussion  of  some  abstruse  scientific  controversy 
then  raging  in  the  reviews.  Everyone  else  seemed 
to  be  talking  lightly  of  the  day's  sport,  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  morrow,  and  his  own  and  other 
men's  horses. 

It  was  getting  a  little  slow  for  me.  Cecil  had 
found  some  friends,  and  the  sound  of  his  hearty 
boyish  laugh  came  to  me  often  from  the  other  end 
of  the  table.  My  immediate  neighbours  were  a 
bishop,  who  was  deep  in  discussion  with  a  minor 
canon  concerning  the  doings  of  some  recent  diocesan 
conference,  at  which  things  seemed  to  have  been 
more  lively  than  harmonious  ;  and  on  my  other  side 
Lord  Penraven  was  quarrelling  with  the  lord  lieu- 
tenant of  the  county  about  the  pedigree  of  a  race- 
horse. Both  disputes  were  utterly  without  interest 
to  me,  and  it  was  no  small  relief  when,  as  I 
caught  Mr.  Ravenor's  eye,  he  beckoned  me  to 
a  vacant  chair  by  his  side. 


216  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  for  a  moment 
interrupted,  was  soon  renewed.  I  sat  silent, 
listening  with  ever-increasing  admiration  to  the 
play  of  words,  the  subtle  arguments,  and  the  epi- 
grammatic brilliancy  of  expression  which  flashed 
from  one  to  another  of  the  four  disputants.  Had 
I  known  anything  of  the  social  or  literary  life  of 
London  I  might  have  been  less  astonished,  for 
Mr.  Ravenor  and  two  of  his  antagonists,  Mr. 
Justice  Haselton  and  Professor  Clumbers,  were 
reckoned  among  the  finest  talkers  of  their  day. 

At  last  Mr.  Ravenor,  very  much  to  my  regret, 
brought  the  conversation  to  an  abrupt  close  by 
proposing  an  exodus  to  the  drawing-rooms.  A  few 
of  the  younger  men  looked  eager  to  depart,  but  the 
majority  rose  and  stretched  themselves  with  the 
sad  faces  of  martyrs  before  forming  themselves  into 
little  groups  and  quitting  the  room.  Mr.  Ravenor 
remained  until  the  last  and  motioned  me  to  stay 
with  him. 

"  Well,  Philip,"  he  said,  when  everyone  had  gone, 
"  how  are  you  getting  on  at  Dr.  Randall's  ?  Do 
you  like  being  there  ?  " 

"  Very  much  for  some  things,"  I  answered. 

He  looked  at  me  closely. 

"  There  is  something  you  have  to  tell  me,"  he 
said.  "  What  is  it  ?  " 

I  glanced  around  at  the  little  army  of  servants 
moving  noiselessly  about  on  all  sides. 

"  There  is  something,"  I  acknowledged,  "  hut  I 
would  rather  tell  it  you  when  we  are  quite  alone. 
Besides,  it  is  rather  a  long  story.  It  has  mostly 
to  do  with  Mr.  Marx." 

The  calm,  stately  serenity  of  Mr.  Ravenor's  face 
underwent  a  sudden  change.  His  dark  brows  al- 
most met  into  his  eyes,  which  I  could  not  read. 
The  change  strengthened  the  impression  which 
had  lately  been  growing  upon  me.  There  was 


A  METAMORPHOSIS.  217 

some  deep  mystery  connected  with  the  personality 
of  Mr.  Marx  in  which  Mr.  Ravenor  was  somehow 
concerned. 

"  What  about  Mr.  Marx  ?  What  can  you  have 
to  say  to  me  about  him  ?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

"  More  than  I  should  care  to  say  here,"  I  answered, 
glancing  around.  "  It  is  rather  a  long " 

"  Come  into  the  library  to  me  the  last  thing  to- 
night," he  said  quickly.  "  I  must  know  what  this 
story  is  that  you  have  got  hold  of.  We  will  go  into 
the  drawing-room  now." 

In  a  few  moments  the  cloud  had  vanished  from 
his  face  and  he  was  again  the  polished  host.  And 
I,  under  protest,  was  inveigled  into  a  corner  by  Miss 
Agnes  Hamilton,  and  given  my  first  lesson  in  the 
fashionable  art  of  flirting, 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

MR.   MARX   IS  WANTED. 

IT  was  long  past  midnight  before  the  last  little 
knots  of  guests  had  wished  one  another  good 
night,  and  even  then  Lord  Penraven  and  a 
few  chosen  companions  only  adjourned  to  a 
smaller  smoking  -  room  in  the  back  regions  of 
the  Castle.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Ravenor  was  not 
with  '.hem,  however,  for  I  had  seen  him,  after 
having  outstayed  all  save  this  handful  of  his  guests, 
cross  the  hall  and  enter  the  library.  In  about  half 
an  hour  I  followed  him. 

I  had  expected  to  find  him  resting  after  the 
great  strain  which  the  multitude  and  importance 
of  his  guests  must  have  imposed  upon  him  during 
the  day.  But  I  found  him  very  differently  em- 
ployed. He  was  bending  low  over  his  writing-table, 
with  a  cup  of  tea  by  his  side,  and  already 
several  sheets  of  closely-written  foolscap  were 
scattered  about  the  table.  At  the  sound  of  my 
entrance  he  looked  up  at  once  and  laid  down  his 
pen. 

"  Sit  there,"  he  said,  pointing  to  an  easy-chair 
opposite  to  him.  "  I  want  to  see  your  face  while 
you  are  talking.  Now,  what  is  this  tale  which  you 
have  to  tell  me  ?  " 

His    manner  was  far  from  encouraging  and  his 

318 


MR.  MARX  IS  WANTED.  219 

face  wore  a  severe  expression.  Altogether  I  felt 
a  little  nervous.  But  it  had  to  be  done,  so  I 
began. 

First  I  told  him  all  about  Leonard  de  Cartienne, 
his  bad  influence  over  Cecil,  and  his  correspond- 
ence with  Mr.  Marx.  He  listened  without  remark. 
Then  I  paused  to  take  breath. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you'll  say  about  the  rest 
of  my  story,"  I  went  on.  "  I  scarcely  know  what 
to  think  of  it  myself.  But  here  it  is.  There  is  an 
inn  in  Little  Drayton  kept  by  a  man  named  Hart, 
and  Cecil  and  De  Cartienne  go  there — sometimes. 
About  a  month  before  I  went  to  Borden  Tower 
the  man  Hart  disappeared.  He  left  home  on  a 
journey,  the  nature  of  which  he  kept  secret  even 
from  his  daughter,  and  has  never  returned  or  been 
heard  of.  All  the  information  which  his  daughter 
can  give  is  that  he  has  left  home  before  on  a  similar 
errand  and  invariably  returned  with  money  after 
three  or  four  days." 

I  paused  and  glanced  at  Mr.  Ravenor.  He  was 
looking  a  little  puzzled,  but  not  particularly  in- 
terested. 

"  About  a  month  before  I  left  here  for  Borden 
Tower,"  I  went  on,  "  I  met  Mr.  Marx  in  Torchester 
and  drove  home  with  him  late  at  night.  On  the 
moor  we  were  furiously  attacked  by  a  man  who 
seemed  to  be  mad  and  Mr.  Marx  was  slightly  in- 
jured. Two  days  afterwards  Mr.  Marx  was  assaulted 
by  the  same  man  in  the  park,  and  if  I  had  not 
turned  up  he  would  probably  have  been  killed. 
The  man  was  a  lunatic  in  every  respect,  save  one. 
He  recognized  Mr.  Marx  as  his  enemy  and  made 
deliberate  attempts  upon  his  life." 

Mr.  Ravenor  softly  pulled  down  the  green  lamp- 
shade on  the  side  nearest  to  him,  and  in  the  sub- 
dued light  I  could  scarcely  see  his  face,  but  I  felt 
that  his  interest  in  my  story  was  growing. 


220  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  Well,  of  course,  when  Cecil  began  talking  about 
this  man  Hart's  disappearance,"  I  continued,  "  and 
I  heard  a  good  deal  about  it  at  Little  Drayton, 
I  began  to  think  about  this  lunatic  whom  no 
one  knew  anything  about.  I  put  down  the  exact 
dates,  and  I  found  that  Hart  must  have  left  Little 
Drayton  about  a  week  before  the  first  attack  on 
Mr.  Marx  by  the  unknown  madman.  Of  course, 
this  by  itself  was  scarcely  worth  thinking  about, 
but  the  strangest  part  of  it  is  to  come.  More  out 
of  curiosity  than  anything,  I  asked  to  see  a  photo- 
graph of  Mr.  Hart.  His  daughter  took  us  into 
the  sitting-room  to  look  at  one  and  to  her  amaze- 
ment found  it  gone.  All  search  was  unavailing. 
Someone  had  taken  it  away.  Well,  I  found  out 
where  it  had  been  taken  and  went  to  order  a  copy. 
It  was  no  use.  The  negative  had  been  sold  to  the 
same  person  who  alone  could  have  entered  Miss 
Hart's  sitting-room  and  abstracted  the  photograph. 
That  person  was  Leonard  de  Cartienne,  and  he 
has  been  in  communication  with  Mr.  Marx,  the 
man  whom  the  lunatic  tried  to  murder.  Can  you 
make  anything  of  that,  sir  ?  " 

Apparently  Mr.  Ravenor  had  made  something 
of  it.  He  was  leaning  a  little  forward  in  his  chair 
and  at  the  sight  of  his  face  a  great  fear  came  upon 
me. 

A  ghastly  change  had  crept  into  it.  His  eyes 
were  burning  with  a  dry,  fierce  fire,  and  the  pallor 
extended  even  to  his  lips. 

He  sat  forward,  with  his  long,  wasted  fingers, 
stretched  out  convulsively  before  his  face,  like  a 
man  who  sees  a  hideous  vision  pass  before  his  sight 
and  yet  remains  spellbound,  powerless  to  speak,  or 
move,  or  break  away  from  the  loathsome  spectacle. 

Sickly  beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  upon  his 
clammy  forehead  and  his  dry  lips  were  moving, 
although  no  sound  came  from  them. 


MR.  MARX  IS  WANTED.  221 

I  gazed  at  him  in  a  speechless  horror,  and  as  I 
looked  the  room  and  all  its  contents  seemed  to  swim 
around  me.  What  could  Mr.  Ravenor  have  found 
so  awful  in  the  story  which  I  had  told  and  how 
could  it  concern  him  ? 

Suddenly  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  over 
me.  I  was  more  than  ever  alarmed  at  his  strange 
expression. 

"  There  is  a  third  connection,"  he  said  hoarsely. 
"  Do  you  remember  that  a  man  called  to  see  me, 
whom  I  declined  to  admit,  on  the  night  of  your 
first  visit  here  ?  When  I  changed  my  mind  he  had 
disappeared." 

I  gave  a  little  cry  and  felt  my  blood  run 
cold. 

"  Mr.  Marx  had  something  to  do  with  that,"  I 
faltered  out.  "  I  met  him  under  the  trees  in  the 
avenue  and  he  was  horribly  frightened  to  see  me. 
I  had  heard  a  cry.  I  was  listening." 

Mr.  Ravenor  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  bell 
and  rang  it  violently.  We  sat  in  silence,  dread- 
ing almost  to  look  at  one  another  until  it  was 
answered. 

"Go  to  Mr.  Marx's  room  and  bid  him  come  here 
at  once,"  Mr.  Ravenor  commanded. 

The  man  bowed  and  withdrew.  When  he  re- 
appeared he  carried  in  his  hand  a  letter. 

"  Mr.  Marx  left  this  on  his  desk  for  you,  sir,"  he 
said. 

"  Left  it !  Where  is  he  ?  Is  he  not  in  the 
Castle  ?  "  questioned  Mr.  Ravenor  sharply. 

"  No,  sir.  He  had  a  dog  cart  about  half-past  four 
to  catch  the  London  express  at  Mellborough." 

Mr.  Ravenor  tore  open  the  note  and  then  threw 
it  across  to  me.  There  were  only  a  few  words  : 

"  Dear  Mr.  Ravenor, — Kindly  excuse  me  for 
a  day  or  two.  Important  business  of  a  private 
nature  calls  me  hurriedly  to  London.  If  you 


222  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

are  writing  me,  my  address  will  be  at  the  Hotel 
Metropole.  M." 

There  was  a  silence  between  us.  Then  I  looked 
into  Mr.  Ravenor's  colourless  face. 

"  We  must  find  that  lunatic,"  I  whispered. 

Mr.  Ravenor  turned  from  me  with  a  shudder. 

"  We  must  do  nothing  of  the  sort,** 


CHAPTER     XXXVIII. 

I  ACCEPT  A   MISSION. 

THERE  was  a  silence  which  threatened  to  last  for 
ever. 

At  length  Mr.  Ravenor  turned  his  head  slightly 
and  looked  towards  me.  The  eagerness  which  he  saw 
in  my  face  seemed  to  strike  some  grim  vein  of 
humour  in  him,  for  his  lips  parted  in  a  dreary, 
fleeting  smile. 

"  Are  you  expecting  to  hear  a  confession  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  it  passed  away. 

A  confession  from  him  !  God  forbid  !  From  him 
who  had  ever  seemed  to  me  so  far  above  other  men, 
that  none  other  were  worthy  to  be  classed  with  him  ! 
All  the  old  fire  of  my  boyish  hero-worship  blazed 
up  at  the  very  thought.  A  confession  from  him  ! 
The  bare  idea  was  sacrilegious. 

He  read  his  answer  in  the  mute,  amazed  protest 
of  my  looks,  and  did  not  wait  for  the  words  which 
were  trembling  upon  my  lips. 

"  It  would  do  you  little  good  to  tell  you  all  that 
your  story  has  suggested  to  me,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Some  day  you  will  know  everything ;  but  not  yet 
—not  yet." 

He  paused  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the 
room,  with  his  hands  behind  him  and  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  floor,  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  looked 
up, 

aaj 


224  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  Marx  must  come  back  at  once,"  he  said,  with 
something  of  his  old  firmness.  "  I  shall  send  him  a 
telegram  to-morrow  to  return  immediately." 

"  And  if  he  doesn't  come  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  to  him.  This  matter  must  be  cleared 
up  as  far  as  it  can  be  and  at  once." 

"  Your  guests,"  I  reminded  him.  "  How  can  you 
leave  them  ?  " 

"  I  forgot  them,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"  Philip,  will  you  go  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  quietly,  although  my  heart 
was  beating  fast.  "  Yes,  I  will  go.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  best." 

He  let  his  hand  rest  for  a  moment  upon  my 
shoulder,  and,  though  he  did  not  say  so,  I  knew  that 
he  was  pleased.  Then  he  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  Two  o'clock  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Philip,  you 
must  leave  me  now." 

I  looked  towards  his  writing-table,  at  which  he 
was  already  seating  himself,  and  hesitated. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  write  now  ?  "  I  ventured 
to  protest. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

I  pointed  to  the  clock  ;   but  he  only  smiled. 

"  I  am  no  slave  to  regular  hours,"  he  said  quietly. 
**  An  hour  or  two's  sleep  is  enough  for  me  at  a  time." 

So  I  left  him, 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

MY  RIDE. 

IT  was  a  few  minutes  past  nine  when  I  descended 
into  the  long,  oaken  gallery  where  breakfast  was 
served,  and  at  the  head  of  the  principal  table  sat 
Mr.  Ravenor  in  hunting  costume.  Everyone  who 
was  down  was  evidently  bound  for  the  meet.  The 
men  were  nearly  all  in  scarlet  coats,  and  the  women 
in  riding-habits  and  trim  little  hats,  with  their 
veils  pushed  back.  There  was  a  great  clatter  of 
knives  and  forks,  and  a  good  deal  of  carving  going 
on  at  the  long,  polished  sideboard,  and  above  it 
all,  a  loud  hum  of  cheerful  talk  ;  altogether  it  was  a 
very  pleasant  meal  that  was  in  progress. 

I  was  making  my  way  towards  a  gap  in  the  table 
at  the  lower  end  when  I  heard  my  name  called, 
and  looked  down  into  Miss  Hamilton's  piquant,  up- 
turned face. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  she  exclaimed,  moving 
her  skirts  to  make  room.  "  See,  Fve  hidden  a  chair 
here — for  somebody." 

I  took  it  with  a  laugh. 

"  Well,  as  somebody  is  so  very  lazy  this  morning," 
I  said,  "  he  doesn't  deserve  to  have  it ;  so  I  will. 
Can  I  get  you  anything  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  thanks.  Look  after  yourself,  do,  for  we 
shall  have  to  start  presently.  And  now  tell  me, 

aas  P 


220  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

how  did  you  know  for  whom  I  was  saving  that 
chair?"  ' 

"  Well,  I  supposed  it  was  for  Cis,"  I  remarked, 
making  a  vigorous  attack  upon  an  adjacent  ham. 

"  Indeed !  And  supposing  I  were  to  say  that  it 
wasn't — that  it  was  for  someone  else  ?  " 

"  Poor  Cis  !  "  I  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  Don't  tell 
me  who  the  someone  else  was,  Miss  Hamilton, 
please." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  shall  hate  him." 

'*  For  Lord  Silchester's  sake  ?  " 

"  No  ;   for  my  own." 

*'  Mr.  Morton,  you're  talking  nonsense." 

"  Well,  didn't  you  undertake  to  teach  me  how 
last  evening  ?  " 

"  Teach  you  !  Oh  !  " — a  little  ironically — '*  you're 
a  very  apt  pupil,  Mr.  Morton." 

I  looked  at  her  in  mute  remonstrance. 

"  With  such  a  tutor,  Miss  Hamilton " 

She  stopped  me,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  dreadful  boy !  Let  me  give  you 
some  tea  to  keep  you  quiet." 

I  drew  a  long  sigh  and  attacked  my  breakfast 
vigorously.  Presently  she  began  again. 

"  Do  you  know  Nanpantan,  Mr.  Morton,  where 
the  meet  is  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  I  answered,  cutting  myself  some 
more  ham.  "  Do  you  mind  giving  me  another  cup 
of  tea,  Miss  Hamilton  ?  It  was  so  good  !  " 

She  nodded  and  drew  off  her  thick  dogskin  glove 
again. 

"  You  thirsty  mortal !  "  she  remarked.  "  I'm 
afraid  you  must  have  been  smoking  too  much  last 
night." 

"  One  cigarette,"  I  assured  her.  "  No  more,  upon 
my  honour." 

"  Really  1    Then  you  won't  get  any  more  tea 


MY  RIDE.  227 

from  me  to  unsteady  your  nerves.     Now  tell  me, 
Mr.  Morton,  do  you  know  this  country  ?  " 

"  Every  inch  of  it.     No  one  better." 

"  Oh,  how  nice  1  And  you'll  give  me  a  lead  to- 
day, won't  you  ?  I  do  so  want  to  do  well." 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  I  answered ;  "  but, 
unfortunately,  I'm  not  going  to  hunt." 

"Not  going  to  hunt !  Then  what  are  you  going 
to  do,  pray  ?  " 

"  Going  for  a  ride  with  a  young  lady,"  I  answered, 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  " — with  a  toss  of  the  head. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then  curiosity  con- 
quered the  fit  of  indignation  which  Miss  Hamiltoi 
had  thought  well  to  assume. 

"  May  I  ask  the  name  of  the  fortunate  younj 
lady  ?  " 

"  You  may,"  I  answered  calmly,  helping  mysej  i 
to  toast.  "  It  is  little  Lady  Beatrice." 

She  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  but  stopped 
suddenly. 

"  What  nonsense  !  Are  you  going  to  take  ths 
groom's  place,  then,  and  hold  the  leading-rein  ?  '' 

"  If  she  rides  with  one,  very  likely,"  I  answered. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then  Miss  Hamilt  <n 
returned  to  the  charge. 

"  How  old  is  your  inamorata  ?  '*  she  inquii  .d. 
"  Seven  or  eight  ?  " 

;t  Twelve  next  birthday,"  I  answered  promptly. 

"  It's  quite  too  ridiculous  !  "  she  declared,  to*  jing 
her  head.  "  I  really  wanted  you  to  come  with  me 
this  morning,  because  you  know  the  country,'  she 
added,  with  a  sidelong  glance  from  her  dark  »;/es. 

"  Nothing  would  have  given  me  greater  pleasure," 
I  declared  ;  "  but  a  promise  is  a  promise,  you  ^now, 
and  we  made  this  one  before  we  knew  an)  ching 
about  the  meet." 

"  We  !     Who  are  we  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Cis  and  I." 


228  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  Cecil  won't  go  if  I  ask  him  to  come  with  me," 
she  said  confidently. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  Perhaps  not.     The  more  reason  why  I  should." 

She  turned  away  from  me  half  amused,  half  vexed. 
Just  then  Cecil  appeared,  and  she  beckoned  him 
eagerly  to  her  side. 

"  Cecil,  Mr.  Morton  tells  me  that  you  have  pro- 
mised to  ride  with  Beatrice  this  morning,"  she  said. 

"  So  we  did,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Awfully  sorry  to 
disappoint  her,  but,  of  course,  I  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  the  meet." 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  that  you  are  not  going  to  desert 
me,  then,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  Mr.  Morton  de- 
clares that  he  is  going  to  keep  his  engagement." 

"  Very  good  of  him,  if  he  is,"  remarked  Cecil, 
stirring  his  tea  with  great  cheerfulness. 

"  Don't  pity  me,"  I  said,  rising.  "  I'm  sure  I 
shall  enjoy  it.  Au  revoir,  Miss  Hamilton." 

And  I  did  enjoy  it.  Many  a  time  afterwards  1 
thought  of  that  slim  little  figure  in  the  long  riding- 
habit,  her  golden  hair  streaming  in  the  breeze,  and 
her  dainty,  flushed  face  aglow  with  excitement  and 
delight,  and  of  the  pleasant  prattle  which  her  little 
ladyship  poured  into  my  willing  ears.  I  remem- 
bered, too,  her  quaint,  naive  ways,  and  the  grave 
way  in  which  she  thanked  me  for  taking  care  of  her 
— little  mannerisms  which  soon  yielded  to  familiarity 
and  vanished  altogether.  And,  strange  though  it 
may  seem,  I  found  always  more  satisfaction  in 
recalling  these  things  than  the  winged  look  and 
merry  speeches  of  Miss  Agnes  Hamilton. 


CHAPTER   XL. 

MY  MISSION. 

FOR  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  in  London—- 
and alone.  There  had  been  no  reply  from  Mr.  Marx 
to  the  telegrams  commanding  his  instant  return, 
and  so  on  the  third  morning  after  my  arrival  at 
Ravenor  Castle  I  quitted  it  again  to  go  in  search  of 
him.  Accustomed  though  he  was  to  conceal  his 
feelings,  and  admirably  though  he  succeeded  in 
doing  so  in  the  presence  of  his  guests,  I  could  see 
that  Mr.  Ravenor  was  deeply  anxious  to  have  the 
suspicions  which  my  story  had  awakened  either 
dispelled  or  confirmed.  Nor,  indeed,  although  their 
purport  was  scarcely  so  clear  to  me,  was  I  less  so. 

I  suppose  that  no  one,  especially  if  he  had  never 
before  been  in  a  great  rity,  could  pass  across  London 
for  the  first  time  without  some  emotion  of  wonder. 
To  me  it  was  like  entering  an  unknown  world.  The 
vast  throng  of  people,  the  ceaseless  din  of  traffic, 
and  the  huge  buildings,  all  filled  me  with  amazement 
which,  as  we  drove  through  the  Strand  to  North- 
umberland Avenue,  grew  into  bewilderment.  Only 
the  recollection  of  my  mission  and  its  grave  import 
recalled  me  to  myself  as  the  cab  drew  up  before 
the  Hotel  Metropole. 

My  bag  was  taken  possession  of  at  once  by  one 
of  the  hall-porters  and  I  engaged  a  room.  Then  I 
made  inquiries  about  Mr.  Marx. 

•29 


230  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

The  clerk  turned  over  two  or  three  pages  of  the 
ledger  and  shook  his  head.  There  was  no  one  of 
that  name  stopping  in  the  hotel,  he  informed 
me. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  whether  anyone  of  that  name 
has  been  staying  here  during  the  last  week  ?  "  I 
asked. 

He  made  a  further  search  and  shook  his  head. 

"  We  have  not  had  the  name  of  Marx  upon  our 
books  at  all,  sir,  during  my  recollection,"  he  declared. 
"  Quite  an  uncommon  name,  too  ;  I  should  certainly 
have  remembered  it." 

"  There  have  been  letters  addressed  to  him  here 
by  that  name,"  I  said  ;  "  can  you  tell  me  what  has 
become  of  them  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  That  would  not  be  in  my  department,  sir  ;  you 
will  ascertain  by  inquiring  at  the  head-porter's 
bureau  round  the  corner." 

I  thanked  him  and  made  my  way  thither  across 
the  reception  hall.  The  answer  to  my  question  was 
given  at  once. 

"  There  are  letters  for  a  Mr.  Marx  nearly  every 
morning,  sir,  and  telegrams,"  said  the  official  ;  "  but 
I  don't  think  that  Mr.  Marx  himself  is  stopping  at 
the  hotel ;  another  gentleman  always  applies  for 
them  and  sends  them  on." 

"  And  is  the  other  gentleman  staying  here  ?  "  I 
asked. 

'  Yes,  sir  ;   No.  no." 

"  Has  he  any  authority  to  receive  them  from 
Mr.  Marx  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  believe  so.  He  showed  us  a  note  from  Mr. 
Marx,  asking  him  to  receive  and  forward  them,  and 
he  has  to  sign,  too,  for  every  one  he  receives.  It  is 
a  rule  with  us  that  anyone  receiving  letters  not 
addressed  to  himself  should  do  so,  whether  he  has 
authority  or  not." 


MY  MISSION.  231 

"  Can  you  tell  me  his  name  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  am 
sorry  to  give  you  so  much  trouble,  but  I  particu- 
larly wish  to  ascertain  Mr.  Marx's  whereabouts,  and 
this  gentleman  knows  it." 

"  Certainly,  sir.  John,  what  is  No.  no's  name  ?  " 
he  asked  an  assistant. 

"  Count  de  Cartienne,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 

THE  COUNT   DE   CARTIENNE. 

MY  surprise  at  this  last  piece  of  information  could 
not  pass  unnoticed.  Both  the  hall-porter  and  his 
assistant  were  evidently  well-trained  servants,  but 
they  looked  curiously  at  me  and  then  exchanged 
rapid  glances  with  one  another.  I  recovered  myself, 
however,  in  an  instant. 

"  This  Count  de  Cartienne,"  I  asked,  "  is  he 
young  ?  I  think  I  know  him.  Rather  dark  and 
thin  and  short  ?  Is  that  he  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  sir.  Count  de  Cartienne  is  a  tall,  aristo- 
cratic-looking gentleman,  middle-aged.  You  are 
certain  to  see  him  about  the  hotel.  He  is  in  and 
out  a  great  deal." 

I  thanked  him  and  moved  away,  for  the  people 
were  beginning  to  flock  in,  inquiring  for  their  keys. 
As  it  was  nearly  dinner-time,  I  followed  their  ex- 
ample and  went  to  my  room  to  change  my  travelling 
clothes  for  more  conventional  attire. 

The  lift  was  almost  full  when  I  entered  it  ;  but 
as  we  were  on  the  point  of  starting,  a  lady,  followed 
by  an  elderly  gentleman,  stepped  in.  I  rose  at  once, 
being  nearest  the  gate,  to  offer  my  seat,  but  the 
words  which  I  had  intended  to  speak  died  away 
upon  my  lips. 

Something  in  the  graceful  figure,  the  soft,  sweet 
•31 


THE  COUNT  DE  CARTIENNE.         233 

eyes,  and  the  delicately-cut  features,  seemed  to 
remind  me  of  my  mother.  It  was  a  faint  resem- 
blance, perhaps — scarcely  more  than  a  suggestion — 
but  it  was  still  enough  to  make  my  heart  beat  fast, 
and  to  arrest  for  a  moment  my  recollection  of  where 
I  was.  Then  suddenly  I  remembered  that  I  was 
behaving,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  strangely,  and  I 
turned  abruptly  away. 

At  the  third  floor  I  stepped  out  and  walked 
across  the  corridor  to  my  room  without  glancing 
once  behind.  But  it  was  some  time  before  I  un- 
packed my  portmanteau,  or  even  thought  of  dressing. 
Then  I  remembered  that  if  they  were  dining  at  the 
hotel  I  should  see  them  again,  and,  turning  out  my 
clothes  at  once,  I  dressed  with  feverish  haste.  For 
the  moment  I  had  forgotten  all  about  Count  de 
Cartienne,  forgotten  even  the  very  purpose  of  my 
visit  to  London.  Only  one  face,  linked  with  a 
memory,  dwelt  in  my  mind  and  usurped  all  my 
thoughts.  I  felt  a  strange  excitability  stealing 
through  my  frame,  and  the  fingers  which  sought  to 
fasten  my  tie  shook  so  that  they  failed  in  their  duty. 
I  seemed  to  have  stepped  into  another  state  of  being. 

When  I  descended  into  the  dining-room  it  was 
already  almost  full,  and  there  were  very  few  empty 
tables.  For  a  minute  or  two  I  stood  behind  the 
entrance  screen,  looking  around.  Nowhere  could  I 
see  any  sign  of  the  lady  whose  face  had  so  interested 
me.  Either  she  was  dining  away  from  the  hotel  or 
had  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance.  Hoping  de- 
voutly that  the  latter  was  the  case,  I  took  possession 
of  a  small  table  laid  for  three  facing  the  door  and 
ordered  my  dinner. 

I  had  scarcely  finished  my  soup  before  an  in- 
stinctive consciousness  that  I  was  being  watched 
made  me  look  quickly  up.  Standing  just  inside  the 
room,  calmly  surveying  the  assembled  guests,  and 
myself  in  particular,  was  a  tall,  distinguished-looking 


234  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

man,  perfectly  clean-shaven,  rather  fair  than  other- 
wise, with  a  single  eye-glass  stuck  in  his  eye,  through 
which  he  was  coolly  examining  me.  He  carried  an 
Inverness  cape  and  an  opera-hat,  and  his  evening 
clothes,  which  fitted  him  perfectly,  were  in  the  best 
possible  taste,  even  down  to  the  plain  gold  stud  in 
his  shirt  front.  His  .age  might  have  been  anything 
from  thirty  to  fifty,  for  his  carriage  was  perfectly 
upright,  and  his  hair  only  slightly  streaked  with 
grey.  Altogether  his  appearance  was  that  of  a 
well-turned-out,  well-bred  man,  and  as  I  glanced 
away  I  felt  a  little  mild  curiosity  to  know  who  he 
was. 

He  came  a  few  steps  farther  into  the  room,  and 
after  a  moment's  hesitation  passed  by  a  larger 
table  laid  for  six  and  took  the  vacant  seat  at  mine. 
He  wished  me  good-evening  in  a  clear,  pleasant 
voice,  with  a  slight  foreign  accent,  resigned  his  coat 
and  hat  to  a  more  than  ordinarily  attentive  waiter, 
and  drawing  a  card  from  his  pocket  began  de- 
liberately to  write  out  his  dishes  from  the  menu. 
Then  he  shut  up  his  pencil,  and  leaning  back  in 
his  chair  once  more  glanced  round  at  the  roomful 
of  people.  Having  apparently  satisfied  his  curiosity, 
he  yawned,  and  turning  towards  me,  began  to  talk. 

Soon  I  began  to  feel  myself  quite  at  home  with 
him,  and  to  enjoy  my  dinner  with  a  greatly-added 
zest.  Indeed,  in  listening  to  some  of  his  quaint 
recitals  of  adventures  at  foreign  hotels,  I  almost 
forgot  to  watch  for  the  advent  of  the  lady  and 
gentleman  for  whom  I  had  been  looking  out  so 
eagerly  only  a  few  minutes  before. 

As  it  happened,  however,  I  saw  them  enter,  and 
my  attention  immediately  wandered  from  the  story 
which  my  companion  was  telling. 

Something  in  the  fragility  of  her  appearance,  and 
the  weight  with  which  she  leaned  upon  her  husband's 
arm,  seemed  to  mark  her  as  an  invalid,  and  this 


THE  COUNT  DE  CARTIENNE.         235 

expression  was  in  a  measure  heightened  by  her  black 
lace  dress,  which,  combined  with  the  too  perfect  com- 
plexion and  slight  figure,  gave  to  her  face  an  almost 
ethereal  expression.  As  I  looked  into  the  deep  blue 
eyes  I  seemed  again  to  be  able  to  trace  that  vague 
likeness  to  my  mother,  and  I  felt  my  heart  beat  fast 
as  the  impression  grew  upon  me.  It  was  only  when 
my  new  friend  stopped  abruptly  in  his  anecdote 
and  looked  at  me  questioningly,  that  I  could  with- 
draw my  eyes  from  her. 

"  Are  they  friends  of  yours  who  have  just  come 
in  ?  "  he  asked,  without  turning  round. 

"  No  ;  I  never  saw  them  before  this  afternoon  in 
my  life.  I  wonder  if  you  could  tell  me  who  they 
are  ?  " 

He  moved  his  chair  a  little,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
do  so  without  rudeness,  and  looked  round.  I 
happened  to  be  watching  him,  and  I  saw  at  once 
that  he  recognised  them. 

Strange  to  say,  the  recognition  seemed  to  afford 
him  anything  but  pleasure  ;  a  change  passed  over 
his  face  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  although  I  only 
just  caught  it,  it  made  me  feel  for  the  moment  de- 
cidedly uncomfortable.  While  it  lasted  the  face 
had  not  been  a  pleasant  one  to  look  upon.  But  it 
was  not  that  alone  which  troubled  me.  During  the 
moment  that  his  expression  had  bsen  transformed, 
it  had  given  me  an  odd.  disagreeable  sense  of 
familiarity. 

He  was  himself  again  almost  immediately — so 
soon  that  I  could  scarcely  credit  the  change — and 
more  than  once  afterwards  I  felt  inclined  to  put 
that  evil  look  and  lowering  brow  down  to  a  trick 
of  my  imagination.  Even  when  I  had  decided  to 
do  so,  however,  I  caught  myself  wondering  more 
than  once  of  whom  they  had  reminded  me. 

He  moved  his  chair  again  and  went  on  with  his 
dinner  in  silence. 


236  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

"  You  recognised  them  ?  "  I  ventured  to  remark. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  curtly. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  who  they  are, 
then  ?  "  I  persisted.  "  I  feel  interested  in  them." 

He  looked  up  curiously  and  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
on  me  while  he  answered  my  question. 

"  The  man  is  Lord  Langerdale,  an  Irish  peer,  and 
the  lady  with  him  is  his  wife." 

"  Thank  you.  The  lady's  face  reminded  me  of 
someone  I  knew  once." 

He  removed  his  eyes  and  his  tone  grew  lighter. 

"  Indeed  !  Rather  an  uncommon  type  of  face, 
too.  She's  a  lovely  woman  still,  though  she  looks 
delicate." 

I  assented  silently.  Somehow  I  did  not  care  to 
discuss  her  with  this  stranger. 

"  Perhaps  you  noticed,"  he  went  on,  after  a  short 
pause,  "  that  it  was  rather  a  shock  to  me  to  see  them 
here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did  notice  that,"  I  admitted. 

He  sighed  and  looked  grave  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  champagne  and 
drank  it  deliberately  off. 

"  It  was  purely  a  matter  of  association,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone.  "  A  somewhat  painful  incident  in 
my  life  was  connected  with  that  family,  although 
with  no  present  member  of  it.  Pass  the  bottle, 
and  let  us  change  the  subject." 

We  talked  of  other  things,  and  for  a  time  all  my 
former  interest  in  his  piquant  anecdotes  and  tren- 
chant remarks  was  renewed.  But  while  he  was 
gravely  considering  with  a  waiter  the  relative  merits 
of  two  brands  of  claret,  I  found  my  eyes  wandering 
to  the  table  at  our  right,  in  search  of  the  woman 
whose  face  had  so  attracted  me.  This  time  my  eyes 
met  hers. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened.  Instead  of 
looking  away  at  once,  she  kept  her  eyes  steadily 


THE  COUNT  DE  CARTIENNE         237 

fixed  upon  me  and  suddenly  gave  a  distinct  start. 
I  saw  the  colour  rush  into  her  face  and  leave  it 
again  almost  as  swiftly  ;  her  thin  lips  were  slightly 
parted,  and  her  whole  expression  was  one  of  great 
agitation.  I  tried  to  look  away,  but  I  could  not ; 
I  felt  somehow  forced  to  return  her  steady  gaze. 
But  when  she  turned  to  her  husband  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm,  evidently  to  direct  his  attention 
to  me,  the  spell  was  broken,  and  I  moved  my  chair 
slightly,  making  some  casual  remark  to  my  com- 
panion which  was  sufficient  to  set  the  ball  of  con- 
versation rolling  again.  But  one  stolen  glance  a 
few  moments  later  showed  me  that  both  husband 
and  wife  were  regarding  me  attentively,  and  several 
times  afterwards,  when  I  looked  over  towards  their 
table,  I  met  Lady  Langerdale's  eyes,  full  of  a  sad, 
wistful,  and  withal  puzzled  expression  which  I  could 
not  read. 

As  dinner  drew  towards  a  close  it  occurred 
to  me  that  my  vis-d-vis  had  studiously  avoided 
turning  once  towards  our  neighbours.  If  he  desired 
to  escape  recognition,  however,  he  was  unsuccessful, 
for  just  as  we  were  beginning  to  think  of  quitting 
our  places,  Lord  Langerdale  left  his  seat  to  speak 
to  some  acquaintances  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
and  on  his  way  back  he  looked  straight  into  my 
companion's  face.  He  started  slightly,  hesitated, 
and  then  came  slowly  up  to  our  table. 

"  Eugene  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  By  all  that's  won- 
derful, is  it  really  you  ?  Why,  we  heard  that  you 
had  become  an  Oriental,  and  forsworn  the  ways 
and  haunts  of  civilisation." 

He  spoke  lightly,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
meeting  was  a  very  embarrassing  one  for  both  of 
them. 

"  I  have  not  been  in  England  long,"  was  the  quiet 
reply.  "  Lady  Langerdale,  I  am  glad  to  see,  is 
well." 


238  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

"  She  is  fairly  well.  How  strange  that  we  should 
meet  here  !  Why,  it  must  be  twenty  years  since  I 
have  seen  you." 

"  I  have  spent  but  little  time  in  England." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  Lord  Langerdale  answered 
slowly.  "  We  have  Heard  of  you  occasionally. 
Will  you  come  and  speak  to  my  wife  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  was  the  calm  reply.  "  It  could 
only  be  very  painful  for  both  of  us.  If  Lady  Lan- 
gerdale desires  it — not  unless — I  will  call  upon  you 
at  your  rooms.  But,  frankly,  I  would  rather  not." 

Lord  Langerdale  appeared  by  no  means  offended, 
rather  a  little  relieved,  and  answered  sadly : 

"  It  is  for  you  to  choose.  If  you  can  tell  her  that 
the  past  has  lost  some  of  its  bitterness  for  you,  and 
—and " 

He  hesitated  and  seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  express 
himself.  My  vis-d-vis  smiled — a  smile  of  peculiar 
bitterness  it  was — and  interrupted  cynically  : 

"  And  that  I  am  a  reformed  character,  I  suppose 
you  would  say,  and  have  become  a  respectable 
member  of  society !  No,  no,  Lord  Langerdale,  I 
am  no  hypocrite,  and  I  shall  never  tell  her  that. 
A  wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  I  have  been 
during  the  best  years  of  my  life,  and  a  wanderer  I 
shall  always  be — adventurer,  some  people  have  said. 
Well,  well,  let  it  be  so  ;  what  matter  ?  " 

Lord  Langerdale  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  so,  Eugene  ;  but 
of  one  thing  you  may  always  be  sure — Elsie  and  I 
will  never  be  your  judges.  If  you  feel  that  it  will 
reopen  old  wounds,  stop  away  ;  but  if  not,  why, 
come  and  see  us.  You  have  a  young  friend  with 
you,"  he  added,  turning  slightly  towards  me  and 
speaking  a  little  more  earnestly  than  the  occasion 
seemed  to  require. 

The  man  whom  he  called  Eugene  shook  his  head. 

*'  I  am  not  so  fortunate,"  he  said  stiffly*    "  I  can 


THE  COUNT  DE  CARTIENNE.         239 

claim  no  more  than  what  on  the  Continent  we  call 
a  '  table  acquaintance  '  with  this  young  gentleman." 

It  might  have  been  my  fancy,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  that  Lord  Langerdale  looked  distinctly  dis- 
appointed. He  bowed  courteously  to  me,  however, 
shook  hands  with  his  friend  and  rejoined  his  wife. 
My  new  acquaintance  resumed  his  former  position, 
and,  with  it,  his  old  nonchalant  manner. 

"  Your  pardon,"  he  said  lightly,  "  for  this  long 
digression.  And  now  tell  me,  mon  ami,  shall  we 
spend  the  evening  together  ?  You  are  a  stranger 
in  London,  you  say  ;  I  am  not,"  he  added  drily. 
"  Come,  shall  I  be  your  cicerone  ?  " 

I  really  had  nothing  else  to  do,  so  I  assented  at 
once. 

"  Good  !  Let  us  finish  the  bottle  to  a  pleasant 
evening.  But,  ah  !  I  forgot.  We  must  be  intro- 
duced. The  English  custom  demands  it,  even 
though  we  introduce  ourselves.  Your  name  is  ?  " 

"  Morton,"  I  answered — "  Philip  Morton.  I 
haven't  a  card." 

"  Good !  Then,  Mr.  Philip  Morton,  permit  me 
the  honour  of  introducing  to  you — myself.  I  am 
called  De  Cartienne — the  Count  Eugene  de  Cartienne 
— but  I  do  not  use  the  title  in  this  country," 


NEWS    OF    MR.    MARX. 

FOR  a  moment  or  two  I  remained  quite  silent,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  I  was  far  too  astonished  to 
make  any  remark.  My  new  acquaintance  sat  looking 
at  me  with  slightly-raised  eyebrows  and  carelessly 
toying  with  his  eyeglass  ;  yet,  notwithstanding  his 
apparent  nonchalance,  I  felt  somehow  aware  that 
he  was  watching  me  keenly. 

"  My  name  appears  to  be  a  surprise  to  you,"  he 
remarked,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  my 
face.  "  Have  you  heard  it  before,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  assented,  "  one  of  the  fellows  down  at 
Borden  Tower " 

"  What,  you  know  Leonard  ?  "  he  interrupted. 
"  Egad  !  how  strange  !  Then  you  are  one  of  Dr. 
Randall's  pupils,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  only  been  there  a  very  short  tune, 
though.  And  Leonard  is " 

"  My  son." 

I  looked  at  him  intently.  Now  that  the  fact 
itself  had  been  suggested  to  me,  I  could  certainly 
trace  some  faint  likeness.  But  what  puzzled  me 
most  was  that  he  seemed  also  to  remind  me,  al- 
though more  vaguely,  of  someone  else,  whom  I 
could  not  call  to  mind  at  all.  Neither  did  he  seem 
particularly  anxious  for  me  to  assist  him,  for,  as 

240 


NEWS  OF  MR.  MARX.  241 

though  somewhat  annoyed  at  my  close  scrutiny,  he 
rose  abruptly  to  his  feet. 

."  Come,  what  do  you  say  to  cigarettes  and  coffee  ? 
We  are  outstaying  everybody  here." 

I  followed  him  downstairs  into  the  smoke-room. 
We  seated  ourselves  upon  a  luxurious  divan,  and 
the  Count  immediately  began  to  talk  about  his  son. 

"  And  so  you  know  Leonard  ?  How  strange  ! 
Do  you  see  much  of  one  another  ?  " 

"  Naturally,  considering  that  there  are  only  three 
of  us  at  Dr.  Randall's,"  I  reminded  him. 

"  Ah,  just  so  !  And  your  other  fellow  pupil  is 
young  Lord  Silchester,  is  he  not  ?  Rather  an 
awkward  number,  three.  Do  you  all  chum  together 
pretty  well  ?  " 

What  was  I  to  say  ?  I  could  not  tell  him  that 
my  relations  with  his  son  were  decidedly  inimical ; 
so,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  I  answered  a  little 
evasively : 

"  I'm  afraid  we're  not  a  very  sociable  trio.  You 
see,  Cis  and  I  are  very  keen  on  out-of-door  amuse- 
ments, and  your  son  rather  prefers  reading." 

He  nodded. 

"  Yes  ;  I  quite  understand.  You  and  Lord  Sil- 
chester are  thoroughly  English,  and  essentially  so 
in  your  tastes  and  love  of  sport.  Leonard,  now,  is 
more  than  half  a  foreigner.  His  mother  was  an 
Austrian  lady,  and  I  myself  am  of  French  extrac- 
tion. By  the  by,  Mr.  Morton,  may  I  ask  you  a 
question — in  confidence  ?  "  he  added  slowly. 

"  Certainly." 

"  It  is  about  Leonard.  I  don't  think  that  you 
need  have  any  scruples  about  telling  me,  for  I  am 
his  father,  you  know,  and  have  a  certain  right  to 
know  everything  about  him." 

He  looked  at  me  gravely,  as  though  for  confir- 
mation of  his  words,  and  I  silently  expressed  my 
assent.  Leonard  de  Cartienne  was  nothing  to  me ; 

0 


242  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

and  if  his  father  was  going  to  ask  me  the  question 
which  I  hoped  he  was,  he  should  have  a  straight- 
forward answer. 

"  I  sent  my  son  to  Dr.  Randall's,"  he  began, 
sinking  his  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper,  "  not 
because  he  was  backward  in  his  studies — for  such 
is  not,  I  believe,  the  case — but  because  he  has  un- 
fortunately inherited  a  very  deplorable  taste.  I  found 
it  out  only  by  accident,  and  it  was  a  very  great 
shock  to  me.  Leonard  is  fond — too  fond — of  play- 
ing cards  for  money.  I  thought  that  at  Borden 
Tower  he  would  have  no  opportunity  for  indulging 
this  lamentable  weakness  ;  but  from  what  I  have 
recently  heard  about  Dr.  Randall,  it  has  occurred  to 
me  that  he  is  perhaps  a  little  too  much  of  the  student 
and  too  little  of  the  schoolmaster.  You  understand 
me  ?  I  mean  that  he  is  perhaps  so  closely  wrapped 
up  in  his  private  work,  that  after  the  hours  which 
he  gives  to  his  pupils  for  instruction  they  may 
secure  almost  as  much  liberty  as  though  they  were 
at  college." 

"  That's  just  it,"  I  answered  :  "  and,  M.  de  Car- 
tienne,  now  that  you  have  spoken  to  me  of  it,  1 
will  tell  you  something.  Your  son  does  play  a  good 
deal  with  Lord  Silchester.  I  know  that  this  is  so, 
for  I  have  played  myself  occasionally." 

"  And  Lord  Silchester  wins,  I  presume  ?  " 

Something  in  the  Count's  tone  as  he  asked  the 
question,  and  something  in  his  face  as  I  glanced 
up,  did  not  please  me.  Both  seemed  to  tell  the 
same  tale,  both  somehow  seemed  to  imply  that  his 
question  to  me  was  altogether  sarcastic,  and  that 
he  knew  the  contrary  to  be  the  case. 

It  was  the  first  gleam  of  mistrust  which  I  had 
felt  towards  my  new  acquaintance,  and  it  did  not 
last,  for  the  expression  of  deep  concern  and  annoy- 
ance with  which  he  heard  my  answer  seemed  too 
natural  to  be  assumed. 


NEWS  OF  MR.  MARX.  243 

"  On  the  contrary,  your  son  always  wins,"  I  told 
him  drily. 

His  finely-pencilled  dark  eyebrows  almost  met  in 
a  heavy  frown,  and  he  threw  his  cigarette  away 
impatiently. 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Morton,  for 
answering  my  question,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  needn't 
tell  you  that  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  what  you  say. 
Something  must  be  done  with  Mr.  Leonard  at  once." 

He  lit  another  cigarette  and  threw  himself  back 
in  a  corner  of  the  divan.  Then  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject  which  was 
uppermost  in  my  mind. 

"  You  know  a  Mr.  Marx,  I  believe  ?  I  was  in- 
quiring for  him  at  the  hotel  office  this  afternoon, 
and  they  told  me  that  you  were  forwarding  his 
letters.  Could  you  give  me  his  address  ?  " 

M.  de  Cartienne  removed  his  cigarette  from  his 
teeth,  and  looked  dubious. 

"  Yes,  I  know  Marx ;  know  him  well,"  he  ad- 
mitted ;  "  but  your  request  puts  me  in  rather  an 
awkward  position.  You  see,  this  is  how  the  matter 
lies,"  he  added,  leaning  forward  confidentially. 
"  Marx  and  I  are  old  friends,  and  he's  been  of  great 
service  to  me  more  than  once,  and  never  asked  for 
any  return.  Well,  I  met  him — I  won't  say  when, 
but  it  wasn't  long  ago — in  Pall  Mall,  and  he  hailed 
me  as  the  very  man  he  was  most  anxious  to  meet. 
We  lunched  together,  and  then  he  told  me  what  he 
wanted.  He  was  in  London  for  a  short  while,  he 
said,  and  wished  to  remain  perfectly  incognito. 
There  would  be  letters  for  him,  he  said,  at  the 
Metropole.  Would  I  fetch  them,  and  forward  them 
to  him  at  an  address  which  he  would  give  me,  on 
condition  that  I  gave  him  my  word  of  honour  to 
keep  it  secret  ?  I  asked,  naturally,  what  reason 
he  had  for  going  into  hiding;  for  virtually  that  is 
what  it  seemed  to  me  to  be ;  but  he  would  give  me 


244  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET 

no  definite  answer.  Would  I  do  him  this  favour  01 
not  ?  he  asked.  And,  remembering  the  many  ser- 
vices which  he  had  rendered  me,  I  found  it  quite 
impossible  to  refuse.  That  is  my  position.  I'm 
really  extremely  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  help  you, 
but  you  see  for  yourself  that  I  cannot." 

His  tone  was  perfectly  serious  and  his  mannei 
earnest.  I  had  not  the  faintest  shadow  of  doubt 
as  to  his  sincerity. 

"  You  can't  help  me  at  all,  then  ?  "  I  said,  nc 
doubt  with  some  of  the  disappointment  which  I  felt 
in  my  tone. 

He  looked  doubtful. 

"  Well,  I  don't  quite  know  about  that,"  he  said 
slowly,  as  though  weighing  something  over  in  his 
mind.  "  Look  here,  Mr.  Morton,"  he  added,  frankly 
enough,  "  what  do  you  want  with  the  man  ?  Is  it 
anything  unpleasant  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered.  "  I  do  not  wish  any 
harm  to  Mr.  Marx  unless  he  deserves  it.  I  want  to 
ask  him  a  few  questions,  that's  all.  Unless  the 
man's  a  perfect  scoundrel  he  will  be  able  to  answer 
them  satisfactorily,  and  my  having  discovered  his 
whereabouts  will  not  harm  him.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  cannot  answer  those  questions,  why,  then, 
you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  M.  de  Cartienne,  that 
he's  an  unmitigated  blackguard,  perfectly  unworthy 
of  your  friendship,  and  undeserving  of  the  slightest 
consideration  from  you." 

M.  de  Cartienne  nodded  and  leaned  forward, 
with  his  arm  across  the  divan. 

"  You  put  the  matter  very  plainly,"  he  said, 
"  and  what  you  say  is  fair  enough.  I'll  tell  you 
how  far  I  am  prepared  to  help  you.  I  won't  tell 
you  Mr.  Marx's  address,  because  I  have  pledged 
my  word  not  to  divulge  it ;  but,  if  you  like,  I'll 
take  you  where  there  will  be  a  very  fair  chance  of 
your  seeing  him." 


NEWS  OF  MR.  MARX,  245 

"  He  is  in  London,  then  ?  " 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled 
slightly. 

"  Permit  me  to  keep  my  word  in  the  letter,  if 
not  in  the  spirit,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  going  to 
spend  my  evening  in  this  way  ;  I  am  going,  first  of 
all,  to  a  theatre  for  an  hour  or  so  ;  then  I  am  going 
to  call  at  a  couple  of  clubs,  and  afterwards  I  am 
going  to  a  club  of  a  somewhat  different  sort.  If 
you  like  to  be  my  companion  for  the  evening  I  shall 
be  charmed;  and  if  it  should  happen  that  we  run 
up  against  any  friend  of  yours — well,  the  world  is 
not  so  very  large,  after  all." 

"  Thanks.  I'll  come  with  you  with  pleasure  1  "  I 
answered  without  hesitation. 

He  stood  up  underneath  the  soft  glare  of  the 
electric  light,  and  as  I  turned  towards  him  some- 
thing in  his  face  puzzled  me.  It  was  gone  directly 
my  eyes  met  his — gone,  but  not  before  it  had  left 
a  curious  impression.  It  seemed  almost  as  though 
a  triumphant  light  had  flashed  for  an  instant  in  his 
bright,  steel-coloured  eyes. 


CHAPTER   XLIIIj 

ABOUT  TOWNj 

WE  passed  up  the  heavily-carpeted  steps  into  the 
central  hall  of  the  hotel.  The  Count  stopped  for 
a  moment  to  inquire  for  letters  at  the  chief  porter's 
bureau,  and  as  we  turned  away  we  came  face  to 
face  with  Lord  Langerdale. 

He  hesitated  when  he  saw  us  together,  but  only 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  advanced  with  a  genial 
smile  upon  his  well-cut,  handsome  face. 

"  You're  the  very  man  I  wanted  to  see,  De  Car- 
tienne,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  you  know  your  young 
friend's  name  by  this  time  ?  Will  you  introduce 
us?" 

The  Count  looked  distinctly  annoyed,  but  he  com- 
plied at  once. 

"  Lord  Langerdale,"  he  said  coldly,  "  this  is  Mr. 
Morton.  Mr.  Morton — Lord  Langerdale." 

Lord  Langerdale  held  out  his  hand  frankly  and 
drew  me  a  little  on  one  side,  although  not  out  of 
the  Count's  hearing. 

"  Mr.  Morton,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "  I  am  going 
to  make  a  somewhat  extraordinary  request.  My 
only  excuse  for  it  is  a  lady's  will,  and  when  you 
reach  my  age  you  will  know  that  it  is  a  thing  by 
no  means  to  be  lightly  regarded.  My  wife  has  been 
very  much  impressed  by  what  she  terms  a  mar- 
vellous likeness  between  you  and — and  a  very  near 


ABOUT  TOWN.  247 

relative  of  hers  whom  she  had  lost  sight  of  for  a  long 
while.  She  is  most  anxious  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance. May  I  have  the  honour  of  presenting  you  to 
her  ?  " 

For  a  moment  my  head  swam.  The  likeness  of 
Lady  Langerdale  to  my  mother,  and  then  this 
strange  fancy  on  her  part !  What  if  they  should 
be  something  more  than  coincidences  ?  The  very 
thought  was  bewildering.  But  how  could  it  be  ? 
No  ;  the  thing  was  impossible.  Still,  the  request 
was  couched  in  such  terms  that  there  could  be  but 
one  answer. 

"  I  shall  be  extremely  pleased ! "  I  declared 
readily. 

"  Then  come  into  the  drawing-room  for  a  few 
minutes,  will  you  ?  "  Lord  Langerdale  said.  "  Good- 
night, Eugene !  No  use  asking  you  to  join  us,  I 
know." 

Count  de  Cartienne  turned  on  his  heel  with  brow 
as  black  as  thunder. 

"  Good-night,  Lord  Langerdale  ! .  "  he  said  stiffly. 
"  Good-night,  Mr.  Morton  !  " 

"  But  I  am  coming  with  you,  you  know  !  "  I 
exclaimed,  surprised  at  his  manner.  "  Couldn't  you 
wait  for  me  five  minutes  ?  " 

"It  is  impossible  !  "  he  answered  shortly ;  "we 
are  late  already !  My  carriage  must  have  been 
waiting  half  an  hour.  I  had  no  idea  of  the  time." 

It  was  rather  an  embarrassing  moment  for  me. 
The  Count  evidently  expected  me  to  keep  my  en- 
gagement with  him,  and  would  be  offended  if  I  did 
not  do  so.  On  the  other  hand,  Lord  Langerdale 
was  waiting  to  take  me  to  his  wife,  and,  from  the 
slight  frown  with  which  he  was  regarding  De  Car- 
tienne, I  judged  that  he  did  not  approve  of  his 
interference. 

Inclination  prompted  me  strongly  to  throw  my 
engagement  with  the  Count  to  the  winds  and  to 


248  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

place  myself  under  Lord  Langerdale' s  guidance. 
But,  after  all,  the  sole  purpose  of  my  journey  to 
London  was  to  discover  Mr.  Marx,  and  if  I  neglected 
this  opportunity  I  might  lose  sight  of  the  only  man 
who  could  help  me  in  my  search.  Clearly,  therefore, 
my  duty  was  to  fulfil  my  prior  engagement. 

"If  M.  de  Cartienne  cannot  wait,"  I  said  re- 
gretfully, "  I  am  afraid,  Lord  Langerdale,  that  the 
pleasure  you  offer  me  must  be  deferred.  Would 
Lady  Langerdale  allow  me  to  call  at  your  rooms 
to-morrow  ?  " 

Evidently  he  was  displeased,  for  his  manner 
changed  at  once. 

"  I  will  leave  a  note  for  you  with  the  hall  porter," 
he  said.  "  Good-night." 

I  turned  away  with  the  Count,  who  preserved  a 
perfectly  unmoved  countenance.  Before  we  had 
taken  half  a  dozen  steps,  however,  he  was  accosted 
by  a  gentleman  entering  the  hotel,  and,  turning 
round,  he  begged  me  to  excuse  him  for  a  moment. 

I  strolled  away  by  myself,  waiting.  Suddenly,  I 
felt  a  light  touch  on  my  arm,  and,  looking  round, 
I  found  Lord  Langerdale  by  my  side. 

"  I  just  want  to  ask  you  a  question,  Mr.  Morton, 
if  you'll  allow  me,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Remember 
that  I'm  an  old  man — old  enoijgh  to  be  your  father 
— and  a  man  of  the  world,  and  you  are  a  very  young 
one.  You  won't  mind  a  word  of  advice  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly  not !  "  I  assured  him  heartily. 

"  Well,  then,  Count  de  Cartienne  is  quite  a  new 
acquaintance  of  yours,  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  him  before  this  evening,"  I  ad- 
mitted. 

"  And  you — pardon  me,  but  you  look  very  young, 
and  a  great  deal  too  fresh  and  healthy  for  a  town 
man — you  don't  know  much  of  London  life,  do 
you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at   all,"   I   answered.    "  This   is  my 


ABOUT  TOWN.  249 

first  visit  to  London,  and  I  only  arrived  this  after- 
noon." 

Lord  Langerdale  looked  very  serious. 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Morton,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  I 
feel  sure  from  your  face  that  I  can  trust  you,  and 
that  what  I  am  going  to  say  you  will  consider  in 
confidence.  I  should  be  the  last  one  to  say  any- 
thing against  Eugene  de  Cartienne,  for  he  received 
a  terrible  injury  from  one  of  my  family,  or,  rather, 
my  wife's  family,  and  I  fear  that  has  exercised  an 
evil  influence  over  his  life.  But,  all  the  same,  I 
cannot  see  you,  a  youngster,  perfectly  inexperienced, 
starting  out  to  spend  your  first  night  in  town  with 
him  without  feeling  it  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  I 
consider  him  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  and 
most  dangerous  companions  whom  you  could  have 
chosen.  There  !  I  hope  you're  not  offended  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  be  ?  "  I  answered  gratefully.  "  Bui 
I  am  not  going  out  with  him  from  choice,  or  for 
the  sake  of  amusement.  We  are  together  simply 
because,  as  far  as  I  know,  he  is  the  only  man  who 
can  solve  a  mystery  which  I  have  come  up  to  London 
to  try  to  clear  up." 

Lord  Langerdale  started,  and  his  manner  became 
almost  agitated. 

"  This  is  most  extraordinary ! "  he  declared. 
"  Mr.  Morton,  you  must — ah,  here  comes  De  Car- 
tienne !  "  he  broke  off  in  a  tone  of  deep  annoyance. 
"  Breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning  at  ten — no, 
nine  o'clock  !  "  he  added,  in  a  lower  key.  "  I  have 
something  most  important  to  say  to  you." 

I  nodded  assent  and  the  Count  joined  us. 

There  was  a  faint  flush  on  his  pale  cheeks  and 
his  eyes  were  flashing  brightly,  as  he  looked  at  us 
standing  close  together.  It  might  have  been  the 
result  of  his  recent  conversation,  of  course  ;  but, 
coupled  with  his  frowning  brow  and  quick,  sus- 
picious glance,  it  looked  a  great  deal  more  like  a 


250  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

sudden  fit  of  anger  at  seeing  us  engaged  in  what 
appeared  like  a  confidential  talk.  But  there  was 
no  trace  of  it  in  his  tone  when  he  addressed  us. 

"  Really,  you  two  might  be  conspirators,"  he  said 
lightly.  "  Well,  Mr.  Morton,  have  you  changed 
your  mind,  or  am  I  to  have  the  honour  of  your 
company  this  evening  ?  " 

"  I  am  ready  to  start  when  you  are,"  I  answered. 
**  Good-night  once  more,  Lord  Langerdale." 

He  shook  my  hand  warmly,  nodded  to  the  Count, 
who  returned  the  salute  with  a  stiff  bow,  and  left 
us.  We  descended  into  the  street,  and  a  very 
small,  neat  brougham,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  dark, 
handsome  bays,  drew  up  at  the  entrance.  The 
coachman's  livery  was  perfectly  plain,  save  that  he 
wore  a  cockade  in  his  hat,  and  there  was  neither 
coat-of-arms  nor  crest  upon  the  panel  of  the  door. 
We  stepped  inside,  and  the  Count  held  a  speaking- 
tube  for  a  moment  to  his  mouth  while  he  consulted 
his  watch.  There  was  no  footman. 

"  Frivolity  Theatre,"  he  directed.  And  we  drove 
off  at  a  smart  pace  into  the  Strand. 

We  reached  our  destination  in  a  few  moments  and 
had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  seats.  It  was  all  new 
to  me,  and  I  felt  a  little  bewildered  as  I  endeavoured 
to  follow  the  performance.  I  soon  had  enough  of 
that.  The  piece  was  a  screaming  farce,  vulgar  and 
stupid. 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Marx  is  here,"  I  whispered  to 
De  Cartienne. 

"  I  don't  think  he  is,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  I  had 
a  good  look  round  for  him  when  we  came  in.  Have 
you  had  enough  of  this  performance  ?  If  so, 
we'll  go.  I  think  I  know  where  we  shall  find 
Marx." 

"  Then  let  us  go  at  once,"  I  urged. 

We  passed  out  of  the  theatre  into  the  street. 
The  brougham  was  there  waiting  for  us. 


ABOUT  TOWN,  251 

"  Jump  in ! "  said  the  Count,  opening  the  door. 
"  I'm  going  to  tell  the  fellow  where  to  drive  to." 

I  obeyed  him,  and  waited  for  nearly  a  minute 
before  he  had  given  his  directions  and  joined  me. 
Then  he  took  his  seat  by  my  side  and  we  drove 
quickly  off. 

"  Why  did  you  not  use  the  speaking  tube  ?  "  I 
asked  idly. 

He  answered  without  looking  at  me. 

"  It  is  rather  an  out-of-the-way  place,"  he  said 
slowly,  "  and  I  did  not  wish  the  man  to  make  a 
mistake.'1  , 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

A  MIDNIGHT  EXCURSION  TO  THE  SUBURBS. 

DURING  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening,  since  we 
had  left  the  hotel,  my  companion  had  shown  no 
disposition  to  talk.  On  the  contrary,  his  silence 
amounted  almost  to  moroseness,  and  he  had  not 
always  answered  my  questions.  But  immediately 
we  had  started  on  this  new  expedition  his  manner 
underwent  a  complete  change.  He  seemed  to  lay 
himself  out  with  feverish  eagerness  to  entertain  me 
and  to  absorb  my  attention. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  tired,"  he  said  suddenly,  at 
the  end  of  one  of  his  anecdotes.  "  We  have  rather 
a  long  drive  before  us." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  I  assured  him.  "  What  is  the 
place  we  are  going  to  ?  " 

"  A  sort  of  private  club.  In  confidence,  I'll  tell 
you  why  it  is  so  far  out  of  the  way.  Some  of  the 
members  are  fond  of  playing  a  little  high,  and  have 
started  a  roulette  board.  That  sort  of  thing  is  best 
kept  quiet,  you  know." 

"  The  place  is  a  gambling-club,  then  ?  " 

"  Something  of  that  sort,"  he  acknowledged. 
"  I  shouldn't  dream  of  taking  you  there  if  it  wasn't 
for  the  sake  of  meeting  Marx.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  thanks.  Save  for  that  reason  I 
shouldn't  think  of  going." 

"  What  an  infernal  night  I  "  he  exclaimed,  looking 
35* 


MIDNIGHT  EXCURSION  TO  SUBURBS,    253 

out  of  the  carriage  for  a  moment ;  "  almost  enough 
to  give  one  the  miserables.  Come,  we'll  shut  it 
out."  He  struck  a  match  and,  turning  round,  lit 
a  lamp  which  was  fixed  at  the  back  of  the  carriage. 
Then  he  quietly  pulled  down  the  blinds  and  began 
to  tell  me  a  story,  of  which  I  heard  not  a  word. 
My  thoughts  were  engrossed  by  another  matter. 
M.  de  Cartienne's  action,  coupled  with  the  strange- 
ness of  his  manner,  could  bear  but  one  interpreta- 
tion. 

He  had  some  reason  for  keeping  me  as  much  as 
possible  in  the  dark  as  to  the  route  we  were  taking. 

For  a  few  moments  I  felt,  to  put  it  mildly, 
uneasy.  Then  several  possible  explanations  of  such 
conduct  occurred  to  me,  and  my  apprehensions  grew 
weaker.  What  more  natural,  after  all,  than  that 
M.  de  Cartienne  should  desire  to  keep  secret  from 
me  the  exact  whereabouts  of  an  establishment 
which,  by  his  own  admission,  was  maintained 
contrary  to  the  law  ?  The  more  I  considered  it, 
the  more  reasonable  such  an  explanation  appeared 
to  me.  I  began  to  wonder,  even,  that  he  had 
not  asked  me  for  some  pledge  of  secrecy.  But 
there  was  time  enough  for  that. 

By  degrees  the  rattling  of  vehicles  around  us 
grew  less  and  less,  until  at  last  all  traffic  seemed 
to  have  died  away.  Once,  during  a  pause  in  the 
conversation,  I  raised  the  blind  a  little  way  and 
looked  out.  We  had  left  even  the  region  of  subur- 
ban semi-detached  villas ;  and,  blurred  though 
the  prospect  was  by  the  mud  which  the  fast-rolling 
wheels  drew  incessantly  into  the  air  and  on  to  the 
window-panes,  I  could  just  distinguish  the  dim 
outline  of  hedges  and  fields  beyond. 

I  looked  at  the  carriage-clock  and  found  that  we 
had  been  already  an  hour  and  a  quarter  on  our 
journey.  From  the  furious  pace  at  which  we  were 
travelling  we  must  have  come  nearly  fifteen  miles. 


254  MR-  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  This  place  is  a  long  way  out,"  I  remarked. 

The  Count  laughed  and  lit  a  cigarette.  "  Oh, 
there's  a  good  reason  for  that.  But  the  men  don't 
drive  here  from  town — at  least,  not  in  the  winter. 
There's  a  railway-station  only  a  mile  away." 

"  We're  almost  there  now,  then,  I  suppose  ?  " 

He  let  the  blind  up  with  a  spring  and  looked  out. 

"  Nearer  than  I  imagined,"  he  remarked.  "  We 
shall  be  there  in  three  minutes." 

He  was  just  drawing  in  his  head  when  he  gave 
a  visible  start  and  leaned  right  out  of  the  window, 
with  his  face  upturned  to  the  beating  rain,  listening 
intently. 

Suddenly  he  withdrew  it,  and,  snatching  at  the 
check-string,  pulled  it  violently.  I  looked  at  him 
in  amazement.  His  face  was  ghastly  pale,  but 
his  thin  lips  were  set  firmly  together  and  his 
features  rigid  with  determination.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  brave,  desperate  man  preparing  to  meet  some 
terrible  danger. 

The  carriage  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  and  he  leaped 
down  into  the  road.  He  did  not  speak  to  me, 
so,  after  a  second's  hesitation,  I  followed  him  and 
stood  by  his  side.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
sound  which  had  alarmed  him.  Behind,  at  no 
very  great  distance,  was  the  sound  of  galloping 
horses  and  the  rumble  of  smoothly-turning  wheels. 

Round  the  corner  it  came,  a  small  brougham 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  great  thoroughbred  horses, 
whose  heavy  gallop,  even  at  fifty  yards'  distance, 
seemed  to  shake  the  ground  beneath  us.  M.  de 
Cartienne  snatched  one  of  the  carriage-lamps  from 
the  bracket  and,  stepping  into  the  middle  of  the 
road,  waved  it  backwards  and  forwards  over  his 
head.  His  action  had  the  desired  effect. 

Quivering  and  plunging  with  fear,  the  horses, 
bathed  in  foam  and  mud,  came  to  a  standstill 
before  us,  and  a  tall,  fair  man,  with  a  long  fur  coat 


MIDNIGHT  EXCURSION  TO  SUBURBS.    255 

thrown  hurriedly  over  his  evening-clothes,  leaped 
out  into  the  road.  The  Count  was  by  his  side  in 
a  moment. 

I  remained  a  little  apart,  of  course,  out  of  ear- 
shot, but  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  two  men. 

They  could  scarcely  have  spoken  a  hundred 
words  before  their  colloquy  was  at  an  end.  The 
new-comer  returned  to  his  carriage  and  M.  de 
Cartienne  followed  his  example.  I  looked  at  him 
as  he  stepped  in,  anxious  to  see  what  effect  the 
other's  news  had  had  upon  him.  Apparently  it 
was  not  so  bad  as  he  had  feared,  for,  although  he 
still  looked  anxious  and  pale,  his  face  had  lost  its 
ghastly  hue. 

We  drove  on  in  the  same  direction  as  before. 
When  we  had  started  he  turned  to  me. 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  police  raid  is  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  I  can't  stop  to  explain,"  he  went  on 
rapidly.  "  Sir  Fred — my  friend  there,  has  just 
brought  down  word  of  some  strange  rumours  about 
the  clubs  to-night.  It  seems  the  police  have  got 
to  hear  of  this  place  and  are  going  to  pay  it  an 
uninvited  visit.  They  won't  be  here  for  an  hour, 
though,  so  if  you  like  just  to  come  inside  and  see 
whether  Marx  is  there  or  not,  you  will  have  time." 

We  had  turned  off  the  road  into  a  bare,  grass- 
grown  avenue,  leading  up  to  a  red-brick  house, 
unilluminated  by  a  single  light. 

We  were  barely  a  minute  driving  up  this  un- 
inviting approach  and  pulling  up  at  the  grim, 
closed  door.  The  carriage  had  scarcely  come  to  a 
standstill  before  the  Count  was  on  the  doorstep, 
fitting  a  curiously-shaped  key  into  the  lock.  It 
yielded  at  once  and  we  both  stepped  inside,  fol- 
lowed by  the  man  in  the  fur  overcoat,  whose  car- 
riage had  pulled  up  close  behind  ours. 

We  were  in  p?rfoct  darkness  and  no  one  seemed 


256  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

to  be  stirring  in  the  house,  although  the  mat  under 
our  feet,  in  some  way  connected  with  an  electric 
alarm  bell,  was  giving  shrill  notice  of  our  arrival. 
Then  we  heard  swift  feet  approaching  and  a  tall, 
hard-featured  woman  in  a  plain  black  gown,  and  hold- 
ing a  lamp  high  over  her  head,  appeared  before  us. 

M.  de  Cartienne  took  her  by  the  arm  and  led 
her  on  one  side.  The  other  man,  who  was  making 
vain  attempts  to  appear  at  his  ease  and  composed, 
sank  into  a  chair,  palpably  trembling.  Of  the 
real  nature  of  the  danger  which  was  imminent  I 
could  form  only  the  slightest  idea ;  but  that  it 
was  something  very  much  to  be  feared  I  could 
easily  gather  from  his  agitation  and  De  Cartienne's 
manner. 

Suddenly  the  latter  turned  round. 

"  Ackland,"  he  said  quickly  to  the  man  in  the 
chair,  eyeing  him  keenly  and  with  a  shade  of  con- 
tempt in  his  tone,  "  you  are  not  fit  for  any  of  the 
serious  work,  I  can  see.  Listen !  Light  up  the 
club-room  and  the  smoke-room,  stir  up  the  fires, 
bring  out  the  cards  and  wine-glasses,  empty  some 
tobacco-ash  about,  make  the  place  look  habitable 
for  us  when  we  come.  Ferdinand  is  on  the  watch 
outside  and  will  give  you  notice  of  our  visitors. 
Ring  all  three  alarm-bells  at  once  if  he  gives  the 
signal.  Morton,  I  want  you  to  wait  for  me.  I'll 
send  you  away  all  right  before  anything  happens  ; 
but  don't  go  unless  you  see  me  again — unless 
you're  frightened." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and,  without  waiting  for 
any  answer  from  either  of  us,  hurried  away  down 
the  passage.  The  man  whom  he  had  called  Ackland 
rose  from  his  seat  and,  striking  a  match,  lighted 
the  gas-brackets  all  around  the  hall  and  the  burners 
of  a  candelabra  which  hung  from  the  roof. 

My  companion  then  threw  open  a  door  and 
I  followed  him  into  a  luxuriously-appointed  room, 


MIDNIGHT  EXCURSION  TO  SUBURBS.    257 

furnished  with  a  suite  of  lounges  and  easy-chairs 
corresponding  with  those  in  the  hall. 

Whilst  I  was  looking  round,  he  hastily  began 
moving  the  chairs  about,  as  though  they  had 
been  recently  used,  poking  the  fire  and  gener- 
ally making  the  place  look  inhabited.  Having 
done  this,  he  crossed  the  hall  and  entered  the  op- 
posite room.  It  was  a  little  smaller,  but  similarly 
appointed  and  decorated,  save  that  a  long  table, 
covered  with  a  white  cloth  and  laid  for  dinner, 
stood  in  the  centre,  and  a  smaller  one,  with  a  green 
baize  covering  at  the  further  end.  My  companion 
threw  a  pack  of  cards  and  some  counters  upon  the 
latter  and  drew  it  closer  up  to  the  fire.  Then, 
having  placed  some  chairs  around  it,  he  went  back 
into  the  hall  again  and  I  followed. 

All  the  while  we  had  been  moving  about,  strange 
noises  had  been  going  on  under  our  feet.  Now 
and  then  the  sound  of  hurrying  footsteps  and  of 
hoarse  voices  reached  us,  and,  more  often  still, 
the  steady  rumbling  of  heavy  articles  being  moved 
about.  I  looked  at  my  companion  for  an  ex- 
planation, but  he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  offer 
one. 

"  What's  going  on  underneath  ? "  I  asked  at 
last. 

"  Bowls  !  "  he  answered  curtly.  "  Don't  talk, 
please,  I  want  to  listen," 


CHAPTER   XLVJ 

A  MYSTERIOUS  COMMISSIONJ 

THB  underground  noises  continued  for  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  time  my  com- 
panion busied  himself  by  removing  from  the  club- 
room  various  articles — the  false  top  of  a  table 
marked  out  in  a  curious  fashion,  several  mahogany 
boxes,  and  other  contrivances  strange  to  me,  but 
presumably  gambling  appliances,  with  all  of  which 
he  disappeared  through  the  door  by  which  De 
Cartienne  had  made  his  exit,  returning  again 
directly. 

At  last  everything  was  quiet,  ominously  quiet ; 
then  the  door  from  the  hall  was  thrown  suddenly 
open,  and  the  Count  entered,  followed  by  four  or 
five  other  men.  They  were  all  apparently  gentle- 
men, and  in  evening  clothes,  but  terribly  soiled 
and  disordered.  Some  were  splashed  with  mud 
from  head  to  foot,  some  had  their  shirt-fronts 
blackened  and  crumpled,  and  the  hands  of  all  of 
them  were  black  with  grease  and  dirt.  All  looked 
more  or  less  pale  and  nervous — hi  fact,  M.  de  Car- 
tienne was  the  only  one  who  thoroughly  retained 
his  composure. 

There  was  a  lavatory  on  the  other  side  of  the 
staircase,  towards  which  the  whole  of  the  little 
party  trooped,  M.  de  Cartienne  beme  the  last. 
As  he  disappeared  he  looked  round  and  beckoned 


259 

me  to  follow  him.  I  did  so  and  stood  by  his  side, 
while  he  plunged  his  head  into  some  cold  water, 
and  then  began  to  wash  his  hands. 

"  I'm  sorry  this  should  have  happened  to-night, 
Morton,"  he  said.  "  Marx  was  here,  but  has 
bolted  in  a  fright." 

"  Couldn't  I  catch  him  up  ?  "  I  asked. 

De  Cartienne  shook  his  head. 

"  No  ;  he's  in  the  train  by  this  time.  He  comes 
here  every  night,  though.  I'll  bring  you  down 
to-morrow,  perhaps." 

"  Are  you  coming  back  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No ;  I  must  see  this  thing  through.  You 
can  go  and  at  once,  though.  My  carriage  will 
take  you  back.  I  shall  return  by  train.  By  the 
by,  there's  a  small  favour  I  want  to  ask  you. 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  have  kept  a  few  private  papers  here,  which 
I  should  not  care  to  have  examined  should  the 
search  really  take  place.  I  want  you  to  take  them 
back  to  the  hotel  for  me.  The  box  is  a  little  too 
heavy  for  me  to  carry,  so  I  have  told  them  to  put 
it  in  the  carriage  as  a  footstool  for  you.  You 
won't  mind  that  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  I  replied.  "  When  shall  I 
see  you  again  ?  " 

"  At  the  hotel  some  time  to-morrow.  Come 
along  now,"  he  added,  putting  on  his  coat. 

He  strolled  with  me  to  the  front  door  and,  throw- 
ing it  open,  listened  intently. 

There  was  no  sound  save  the  moaning  of  the 
wind  in  the  bare  trees  which  stood  by  the  side  of 
the  house  and  the  patter  of  the  fast-falling  rain. 
I  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  the  Count  came 
to  the  window  to  me. 

"  Don't  forget,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  long, 
oblong  box  secured  by  a  strong  lock.  "  Draw 
the  rug  a  little  more  over  your  knees — so." 


260  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

I  obeyed  him  and  let  it  hang  down  to  hide  the 
box,  which  I  began  to  see  was  his  object. 

"  And  if  you  should  meet  anyone  and  they 
should  be  impertinent  enough  to  ask  you  where 
you  are  going,  don't  tell  them.  Give  them  your 
card  and  tell  them  to  go  to  the  devil.  If  they 
are  very  pressing  indeed,  you  must  tell  a  lie.  Say 
that  you've  been  to  dine  with  Sir  Sedgwick  Bromley 
at  Hatherly  Hall.  Don't  forget  the  name." 

"  Very  well.  Are  you  coming  back  to  the  Metro- 
pole  to-night  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  think  so.  But  if  you  don't  mind  I  should 
be  glad  if  you  would  have  the  box  taken  up  into 
your  room  and  keep  it  for  me.  I  shouldn't  like 
anything  to  happen  to  it." 

I  promised,  but  without  much  alacrity.  We 
shook  hands  and  the  carriage  drove  off. 


CHAPTER   XLVL 

A  BRUSH  WITH  THE  POLICE J 

WE  could  scarcely  have  accomplished  more  than 
a  mile  of  our  homeward  journey  when,  with  a 
sudden  jerk  which  almost  threw  me  forward,  the 
carriage  was  brought  to  a  standstill. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  were  two  car- 
riages, or,  rather,  flys,  from  one  of  which  a  tall, 
slim  man  was  in  the  act  of  descending.  Several 
other  men  on  horseback  were  just  riding  up  from 
behind.  They  were  all  in  plain  clothes,  but  some- 
thing about  their  physique  and  general  appearance 
had  an  unmistakable  suggestion  of  police. 

The  man  who  had  been  descending  from  the 
nearer  of  the  two  carriages  crossed  the  road  and 
approached  me. 

"  Sorry  to  detain  you,  sir,"  he  said,  saluting  in 
military  fashion,  "  but  I  must  ask  you  your  name 
and  address  and  where  you  have  been  this  evening." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  it  has  occurred  to  you 
that  your  behaviour  is  rather  strange,"  I  re- 
marked, looking  at  him  steadily,  "  not  to  say  im- 
pertinent! What  the  mischief  do  you  mean  by 
stopping  my  carriage  in  this  way  on  the  high  road 
and  asking  me  questions  like  that  ?  Who  are 
you  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  and  then  answered  with  a  littlt 
more  respect  in  his  manner. 

a6z 


262  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  I  am  deputy  chief  sergeant  at  Scotland  Yard, 
sir,  and  these  are  my  men.  We  have  a  little  busi- 
ness at  a  house  not  far  from  here,  and  our  orders 
are  to  detain  and  procure  the  names  and  addresses 
of  all  persons  whom  we  might  encounter  of  whom 
we  had  reasonable  suspicion  that  they  had  recently 
left  the  house  in  question.  You  will  not  object 
to  give  me  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  My  name  is  Philip  Morton, 
and  my  general  address  is  Ravenor  Castle,  Leicester- 
shire. At  present  I  am  staying  at  the  Metropole 
Hotel.  Are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  sir,"  he  answered,  after  one  more 
rapid  glance  around  the  carriage.  "  I  see  that 
you  are  not  concerned  in  this  affair.  I  wish  you 
good-night !  " 

We  drove  rapidly  off,  and  I  began  to  feel  not  a 
little  dissatisfied  with  myself.  The  Count  had  no 
right  to  have  mixed  me  up  in  this  affair. 

In  my  ill-temper  I  gave  the  box,  which  lay  con- 
cealed under  my  feet,  a  savage  kick,  sufficient  to 
have  sent  it  flying  to  the  other  end  of  the  carriage. 
But  there  was  a  little  surprise  in  store  for  me. 
To  my  amazement  the  box  remained  perfectly 
immovable,  just  as  though  it  had  been  screwed 
into  the  bottom  of  the  carriage. 

Forgetting  the  Count's  earnest  injunctions,  I 
threw  aside  the  rug  and,  stooping  down,  tried  to 
lift  it  by  the  handles.  In  those  days  I  was  proud 
of  my  muscles,  and  not  altogether  without  reason, 
but  it  needed  all  my  strength  to  lift  that  small 
box  from  the  ground  and  hold  it  for  a  moment 
in  my  arms.  What  could  it  contain  ?  Papers, 
cards,  gambling  appliances  ?  Surely  it  could  be 
none  of  these !  The  very  idea  was  ridiculous ! 
The  Count  de  Cartienne  had  deceived  me.  I  had 
been  made  the  catspaw  of  those  pale,  anxious  men 
who  had  watched  me  start  so  eagerly  and  scanned 


A  BRUSH  WITH  THE  POLICE,        263 

me  over  with  many  furtive  glances.  What  it  was 
of  which  I  was  in  charge,  I  could  not  tell ;  but  in 
that  box  lay  their  secret,  and  my  first  indignant 
impulse  was  to  open  the  carriage  door  and  kick  it 
out  into  the  road. 

But  are  not  second  thoughts  always  better  ? 
Might  not  this  affair  shape  itself  to  my  ad- 
vantage ?  There  need  be  no  more  obligations  to 
the  Count  de  Cartienne.  He  was  possessed  of  infor- 
mation which  was  valuable  to  me.  I  was  possessed 
of  this  box,  which,  without  doubt,  was  invalu- 
able to  him.  I  would  propose  an  exchange — he 
should  bring  me  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Marx  and 
receive  his  precious  box  ;  or,  if  he  refused  to  do 
so,  its  destination  should  be  Scotland  Yard.  A 
very  equitable  arrangement  1 


CHAPTER    XLVII, 

LIGHT  AT  LAST. 

WE  were  in  London  again,  bowling  smoothly  along 
wide  stretches  of  silent,  gas-lit  streets,  empty, 
and  almost  deserted  now,  for  it  was  past  two 
o'clock. 

Soon  we  turned  sharply  into  Northumberland 
Avenue,  and  pulled  up  at  the  hotel.  The 
man  on  the  box — footman  I  suppose  he  was, 
although  he  was  not  in  livery — opened  the  car- 
riage-door for  me  and  then  took  possession  of  the 
small  trunk. 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  sir,  I  will  take  this  up 
to  your  room,"  he  said. 

"  You  needn't  trouble,"  I  answered.  "  I  can 
manage." 

He  retained  possession  of  it. 

"  The  Count's  orders  were,  sir,  that  I  should 
not  allow  the  hotel  servants  to  meddle  with  it, 
and  that,  if  possible,  I  should  myself  see  it  de- 
posited in  your  room.  You  have  no  objection, 
sir,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  turning  away. 
"  In  fact,  the  less  I  have  to  do  with  it  the 
better." 

We  entered  the  hotel  and,  crossing  the  hall, 
rang  for  the  lift. 


LIGHT  AT  LAST.  265 

The  lift  came  to  a  standstill  at  the  third  floor 
and  we  stepped  out  on  to  the  corridor. 

The  Count's  servant  followed  me  to  my  room, 
deposited  the  box  on  a  chair  at  the  foot  of  the  bed 
and  wished  me  good-night. 

I  then  got  into  bed  and,  full  of  excitement 
though  the  day  had  been  for  me,  slept  soundly 
till  morning. 

It  was  five  minutes  past  nine  when  I  entered 
the  great  salon  of  the  hotel  and  looked  round 
for  Lord  Langerdale. 

My  search  was  not  a  long  one.  He  was  sitting 
alone  at  a  table  laid  for  three  in  one  of  the  deep 
recesses,  with  a  little  pile  of  letters  and  a  news- 
paper before  him.  Directly  he  saw  me  he  pushed 
them  away  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-morning  !  "  he  said  pleasantly.  "  I'm 
glad  to  see  you're  so  punctual.  You're  not  in 
a  hurry  for  breakfast  for  a  few  minutes,  are 
you  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  taking  the  chair  which 
he  pushed  towards  me. 

"  That's  right.  My  wife  will  be  down  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  we'll  wait  for  her,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

I  bowed  my  assent,  murmuring  that  I  should 
be  delighted,  which  was  perfectly  true. 

Lord  Langerdale  turned  a  little  round  in  his 
chair  so  as  to  face  me  and  began  at  once  : 

"  I  am  rather  a  blunt  sort  of  man,  Mr.  Morton — 
we  Irish  generally  are,  you  know — and  I  like  to 
go  straight  at  a  thing.  Will  you  tell  me  your 
mother's  maiden  name  ?  " 

**  I  would  with  pleasure  if  I  knew  it,"  I  answered 
readily  ;  "  but  I  don't." 

"  Is  she  alive  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"She  died  about  nine  months 


266  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  And  Morton  is  your  name  ?  May  I  ask  who 
your  father  was  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  He  was  a  farmer  in  Leicester- 
shire." 

"  A  farmer  ? "  Lord  Langerdale  looked  sur- 
prised and  I  fancied  a  little  disappointed.  "  Was 
he  your  mother's  first  husband  ?  " 

I  was  about  to  answer  hi  the  affirmative,  but 
remembered  that  I  had  no  certain  knowledge,  so 
I  corrected  myself. 

"  You  may  think  it  strange,  Lord  Langerdale," 
I  said,  "  but  I  know  nothing  of  my  mother's 
antecedents,  nor  of  her  family.  From  my  earliest 
recollection  she  never  mentioned  her  past,  nor  per- 
mitted others  to  do  so.  There  was  some  mystery 
connected  with  it,  I  am  sure;  but  what  it  was  I 
have  no  clue. 

"  I  could  not  help  observing,  as  everyone  else 
did,  that  she  was  far  above  my  father  from  a  social 
point  of  view,  for  she  was  an  educated  lady  and  he 
was  only  a  small  tenant  farmer.  Throughout  all 
her  life  she  was  reticent,  and  her  last  act  before 
she  died  was  a  paradox.  She  left  me  to  the  guardian- 
ship of  the  man  whom  she  had  always  before  seemed 
to  dread  and  fear." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Ravenor,  of  Ravenor  Castle.  We  were 
tenants  of  his." 

"  My  God  !  " 

Lord  Langerdale's  whole  appearance  was  that 
of  a  man  strongly  agitated.  He  turned  his  head 
away  for  a  moment,  and  the  long,  white  fingers 
which  supported  it  were  shaking  visibly. 

I,  too,  was  moved,  for  it  seemed  as  though  the 
time  were  come  at  last  when  something  of  my 
mother's  history  would  be  made  known  to  me. 
But  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  speak  again.  It 
was  I  who  had  to  remind  him  of  my  presence. 


LIGHT  AT  LAST,  267 

"  Lord  Langerdale,"  I  cried,  my  voice,  despite 
all  my  efforts,  trembling  with  eagerness,  "  you 
know  who  my  mother  was  ?  You  can  tell  me  her 
history  ?  " 

He  turned  round  slowly. 

"  One  more  question,"  he  said.  "  Are  you  sure 
that  you*  were  born  at  Ravenor  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  heard  otherwise,"  I  told  him. 
"  But  when  I  asked  my  mother  once  at  which 
church  I  was  christened,  she  could  not  tell  me 
and  forbade  me  to  ask  again." 

Lord  Langerdale  looked  puzzled  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  asked  me  my  age,  which  I  told 
him. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  time  when  news  came 
of  Mr.  Ravenor,  after  he  had  been  supposed  to  have 
been  dead  for  so  long  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  is  about  my  earliest  distinct  recol- 
lection," I  answered. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  your  mother  received 
the  news  ?  " 

Yes,  I  remembered.  Even  at  that  moment  a 
vision  rose  up  before  me.  I  saw  her  standing 
beneath  the  ivy-covered  porch  of  our  farmhouse, 
her  beautiful  face  ghastly  with  sudden  pallor, 
and  her  wild  eyes  riveted  upon  my  father's  burly 
figure,  as  he  shouted  out  the  tidings.  I  described 
the  scene  to  Lord  Langerdale. 

"  And  afterwards  did  she  ever  mention  Mr. 
Ravenor's  name  to  you  ?  Did  she  see  anything 
of  him  ?  "  he  asked,  when  I  had  finished. 

Briefly  I  told  him  of  her  warnings,  of  my  meeting 
with  Mr.  Ravenor,  of  his  proposal  to  adopt  me, 
and  of  my  mother's  death,  and  how  at  the  end  she 
suddenly  turned  round  and  left  me  to  his  guardian- 
ship. When  I  had  finished  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
my  arm. 

"  Let  us  go  upstairs  to  my  rooms,"  he  said  kindly. 


268  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

*'  If  my  wife  were  to  come  in  now  and  learn  the 
truth — and  I'm  a  bad  hand  at  keeping  anything 
back  from  her — I'm  afraid  the  shock  would  be  too 
much  for  her.  Come  with  me  and  I  will  tell  you 
your  mother's  history." 
So  I  rose  and  followed  him  with  beating  heart. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII, 

A  PAGE   OF  HISTORY^ 

LORD  LANGERDALE'S  suite  of  apartments  was  on 
the  second  floor,  and  when  we  reached  them  it 
was  no  small  relief  to  me  to  find  the  room  into 
which  we  turned  empty.  I  sank  mechanically 
into  the  chair  to  which  he  pointed,  whilst  he 
himself  remained  standing  a  few  feet  away  from 
me. 

"  From  what  you  have  told  me,"  he  said  gravely, 
"  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  but  that  my  wife 
and  your  mother  were  sisters." 

I  gave  a  little  gasp  and  began  to  wonder  whether 
this  was  not  all  a  wild  dream.  Lord  Langerdale 
remained  silent,  whilst  I  recovered  myself  in  some 
measure. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  about  it  ?  "  I  asked  slowly. 
"  I  don't  understand." 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything,"  Lord  Langerdale 
said  kindly.  "  This  is  a  great  surprise  to  you,  of 
course,  and  quite  as  great  a  one  to  me.  Here 
is  the  story — or,  rather,  as  much  as  I  know 
of  it." 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  took  a  chair  by 
my  side.  Everything  else  in  the  room  except 
his  face  was  blurred  and  indistinct,  and  his 
voice  seemed  to  come  to  me  from  a  long  dis- 

269 


270  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

tance.     But  every  word  he  uttered  sank  into  my 
heart. 

"  Your  grandfather  was  a  very  poor  and 
very  proud  English  baronet  —  Sir  Arthur  Mon- 
tavon.  My  wife  Elsie  and  your  mother  were  his 
only  children,  and  they  were  twins.  They  were 
presented  at  Court  together,  created  an  equal 
sensation,  and  were  at  once  allowed  to  be  the 
beauties  of  the  season.  This  was  the  time 
when  I  first  knew  them,  so  it  is  here  that  I 
begin  my  tale. 

"  Six  months  after  their  appearance  in  Society, 
Elsie  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  me.  But  your 
mother  seemed  to  be  more  difficult  to  please.  She 
refused  several  very  good  offers,  and  at  the  end  of 
her  first  season  she  was  still  free. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  how  or  where  she  first 
met  him,"  Lord  Langerdale  continued  slowly ; 
"  but  before  the  following  spring  your  mother 
was  betrothed  to  the  Count  de  Cartienne.  At 
that  time  he  was  one  of  the  richest,  the  best-looking, 
and  most  popular  men  about  town.  There  seemed 
to  be  nothing  which  he  could  not  do,  no  art 
in  which  he  was  not  proficient,  and  he  was 
passionately  in  love  with  your  mother.  Whether 
she  ever  really  cared  for  him  I  cannot  tell ;  but  if 
she  did,  it  could  only  have  been  a  very  transitory 
feeling. 

"  The  marriage-day  was  fixed  and  was  a  general 
topic  of  conversation.  I  even  believe  that  your 
mother  had  begun  to  prepare  her  trousseau,  when 
something  happened.  Count  de  Cartienne  was 
deposed  from  his  post  of  chief  favourite  in  Society, 
which  he  at  one  time  held,  by  a  younger  and  more 
extraordinary  man.  That  man  was " 

"  Mr.  Ravenor  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

Lord  Langerdale  nodded. 

"  I  don't  think,"  he  went  on,   "  that  you  can 


A  PAGE  OF  HISTORY^  371 

possibly  imagine  from  the  Mr.  Ravenor  of  to-day 
what  he  was  when  he  became  the  rage  of  London 
Society.  He  had  just  returned  from  his  first 
journey  in  the  East,  after  some  perilous  adventures, 
which  had  filled  the  columns  of  the  newspapers  for 
weeks  and  had  already  created  a  strong  curiosity 
about  him.  I  met  him,  I  think,  on  the  first 
evening  he  entered  a  London  drawing-room,  and  I 
will  never  forget  it. 

"  He  was  as  handsome  as  a  Greek  god,  with 
limbs  magnificently  developed  by  his  hardy, 
vigorous  life  and  rigid  asceticism,  with  the  head 
of  a  Byron,  the  manners  of  a  Grandison,  and 
the  fire  and  eloquence  of  a  Burke,  when  he 
chose  to  open  his  mouth. 

"  Men  and  women  alike  were  fascinated,  which 
was  all  the  more  remarkable  as  he  sought  no  inti- 
mate amongst  the  former,  and  studiously  avoided 
compromising  himself  with  any  of  the  latter, 
although,  Heaven  knows,  he  had  no  lack  of 
opportunity.  The  only  man  with  whom  he 
seemed  to  be  on  at  all  friendly  terms  was  De 
Cartienne ;  and  the  only  woman  to  whom  he  paid 
any  save  the  most  ordinary  attention  was  your 
mother.'* 

Lord  Langerdale  paused  for  several  moments 
and  seemed  wrapped  in  a  brown  study,  from  which 
my  impatience  aroused  him.  He  continued  at 
once  : 

"  Things  went  on  smoothly  for  a  time,  and  then 
rumours  began  to  get  about.  At  first  there  were 
only  faint  whispers,  but  presently  people  began 
to  talk  openly.  Count  de  Cartienne  had  better 
beware,  they  said,  or  he  would  lose  his  bride.  At 
first  he  treated  all  such  suggestions  with  contempt, 
but  the  time  came  when  he  was  forced  to  consider 
them  seriously. 

"  Mr.    Ravenor    published    a   small    volume    ol 


273  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

poems  anonymously,  amongst  which  were  some 
passionate  love-sonnets  addressed  to  A.  M.  Every- 
one was  talking  of  the  book  and  wondering  who 
the  new  poet  was,  when,  through  some  treachery 
in  the  publisher's  office,  the  secret  leaked  out,  and 
everyone  then  knew  that  those  thrilling  love-songs 
were  addressed  to  Alice  Montavon. 

"  De  Cartienne  went  straight  to  Mr.  Ravenor 
and  demanded  an  explanation.  Mr.  Ravenor 
acknowledged  the  authorship  of  the  poems,  and 
did  not  deny  that  the  verses  in  question  were 
addressed  to  your  mother ;  further  than  that 
he  would  not  say  a  word,  and  simply  referred 
De  Cartienne  to  her. 

"  He  went  straight  to  her,  poor  fellow !  and 
was  met  with  a  piteous  entreaty  that  he  would 
release  her  from  her  engagement.  She  loved  Mr. 
Ravenor  and  could  marry  no  one  else.  What 
followed  remains  to  some  extent  a  secret ;  but 
this  much  we  know  : 

"  There  was  a  furious  scene  between  De  Car- 
tienne and  your  mother,  which  ended  in  his  re- 
fusing to  give  her  up  and  threatening  to  shoot  his 
rival  if  ever  he  saw  them  together  again.  Sir 
Arthur  Montavon,  who  was  deeply  in  De  Car- 
tienne's  debt,  swore  that  the  marriage  should 
take  place,  and  apparently  they  gained  their  end, 
for  Mr.  Ravenor  suddenly  disappeared,  and  it 
was  reported  that  he  had  left  the  country.  On 
the  very  day  before  the  wedding,  however, 
Society  was  furnished  with  a  still  more  sensa- 
tional piece  of  scandal ;  your  mother  left  her 
home  secretly  and  the  companion  of  her  fligjit  was 
Mr.  Ravenor  !  " 

I  could  sit  still  no  longer,  but  rose  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  room  with  quick,  unsteady  strides. 
Lord  Langerdale  watched  me  with  a  great  and 
growing  pity  •  in  his  honest  face.  There  was 


A  PAGE  OF  HISTORY^  273 

silence  between  us  for  several  minutes,  during 
which,  after  one  keen,  restless  look  of  inquiry, 
I  kept  my  face  turned  away  from  his.  Then 
he  continued  his  story  in  a  somewhat  lower 
key  : 

"  For  two  days  De  Cartienne  was  virtually  a 
maniac.  Then  he  seemed  suddenly  to  come  to 
his  senses,  and  I  think  we  all — Elsie  and  I  especi- 
ally— dreaded  his  terrible,  set  calmness  more  even 
than  his  previous  fury.  He  made  no  wild  threats, 
nor  did  he  talk  to  anyone  of  his  intentions.  But 
we  all  knew  what  they  were  ;  and  when  he  left 
London,  secretly  and  alone,  we  trembled,  for  we 
knew  that  he  was  going  in  search  of  your  mother. 
He  needed  no  help,  for  he  was  himself  a  born 
detective,  and  possessed  in  a  marvellous  degree  the 
art  of  disguising  himself. 

"  Every  day  we  searched  the  newspapers 
anxiously,  dreading  lest  we  should  read  of  the 
tragedy  which  we  feared  was  inevitable.  But  we 
heard  nothing.  The  weeks  crept  on  into  months 
and  the  months  to  years  and  still  we  heard  nothing 
— not  even  from  your  mother. 

"  We  advertised,  made  every  possible  form  of 
inquiry,  but  in  vain.  Then  came  the  news  of  Mr. 
Ravenor's  shipwreck  and  supposed  death,  and  we 
concluded  that  your  mother  had  perished  with 
him.  I  accepted  a  foreign  appointment,  and  only 
returned  to  England,  after  ten  years'  absence,  last 
week.  I  heard  at  once  of  Mr.  Ravenor's  mar- 
vellous return  to  life  and  I  wrote  to  him.  The 
only  reply  I  received  was  a  single  sentence  : 

"  *  You  can  tell  your  wife  that  her  sister  is  dead. 
I  have  no  more  to  say.' 

"  Only  yesterday,  to  my  amazement,  I  met 
De  Cartienne  again,  and  with  him,  you,  who,  I 
felt  sure  from  the  beginning,  must  be  Alice's 
son.  It  may  seem  strange  to  you  that  I  should 


274  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

know  so  much  and  yet  know  no  more.  But  it 
is  so." 

I  turned  round  and  faced  him  slowly. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  then,  that  after  her 
elopement  my  mother  never  once  communicated 
with  her  father  or  sister  ?  " 

"  Only  in  this  way.  She  left  a  private  message 
for  my  wife,  telling  her  through  whom  to  forward 
a  letter,  but  not  disclosing  her  whereabouts.  Sir 
Arthur  Montavon  intercepted  the  message  and 
took  advantage  of  it  to  write  a  cruel,  stern  letter, 
forbidding  her  ever  to  appear  in  his  presence  again, 
or  to  address  him  or  her  sister ;  and  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that,  at  his  command,  my  wife,  too,  wrote 
in  a  censorious  vein,  hoping  to  make  up  for  it  by 
sending  another  letter  a  few  days  afterwards. 
The  first  letter  your  mother  received  ;  the  second 
missed  her.  She  inherited  a  good  deal  of  her  father's 
firmness,  almost  severity,  of  disposition,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  the  receipt  of  those  letters 
would  lead  her  to  cut  herself  off  altogether  from 
her  family." 

"  Then  you  do  not  even  know  where  she  and 
Mr.  Ravenor  were  married  ?  "  I  asked  huskily. 

Lord  Langerdale  shook  his  head,  and  I  noticed 
that  he  failed  to  look  me  in  the  face.  I  braced 
myself  up  with  a  great  effort. 

"  Lord  Langerdale,"  I  said  quietly,  "  this  is  a 
matter  of  life  or  death  to  me.  You  seem  to 
avoid  my  question.  Answer  me  this  :  Have  you 
any  reason  to  suppose  that — that  there  was  no 
marriage  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,*'  he  answered  quickly.  "  But, 
my  dear  boy,"  he  went  on,  coming  over  to  my 
side  and  resting  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  "  it 
is  always  as  well  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst.  I 
will  tell  you  how  it  has  seemed  to  me  sometimes. 
Mr.  Ravenor  had  very  peculiar  views  with  regard 


A  PAGE  OF  HISTORY.  275 

to  marriage,  something  similar  to  those  Shelley 
held  in  his  youth,  and  we  never  heard  of  any  cere- 
mony, which  seems  strange.  Then,  too,  their 
separation  and  your  mother's  marriage  to  a  farmer, 
her  stern,  lonely  life  afterwards,  and  the  fact 
that  your  birth  has  been  kept  concealed  from 
you " 

He  hesitated  and  seemed  to  gather  encourage- 
ment from  my  face.  I  could  not,  I  would  not, 
for  a  moment  share  his  fear  when  I  thought 
steadfastly  about  it.  I  thought  of  my  mother 
dying,  with  a  saint-like  peace  upon  her  face, 
in  Mr.  Ravenor's  arms.  I  thought  of  the 
calm,  sorrowful  dignity  of  her  life,  and  the  idea 
refused  for  a  moment  to  linger  in  my  mind. 
Some  other  great  cause  for  estrangement  there 
must  have  been  between  them,  but  not  that — not 
that! 

"  I  will  go  down  and  see  Ravenor  to-day,"  Lord 
Langerdale  declared,  with  sudden  energy.  "  I 
will  wrest  the  truth  from  him." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  This  matter  lies  between  him  and  me  only," 
I  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  will  go  to  him." 

The  handle  of  the  door  was  softly  turned  and 
Lady  Langerdale  stood  upon  the  threshold.  Her 
husband  went  over  to  her  at  once. 

"  Elsie,"  he  said,  "  you  were  right.  There  are 
many  things  which  yet  remain  in  darkness ;  but 
this  is  Alice's  boy — your  sister's  son." 

She  came  up  to  me  with  outstretched  hands 
and  a  wistful  look  in  her  sweet,  womanly  face. 

My  heart  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  then 
gave  a  great  throb  as  I  felt  the  warm  clasp  of  her 
hands  and  the  tremulous  touch  of  her  lips  upon 
my  forehead. 

I  knew  that  I  had  reached  a  crisis  in  my 
life,  and  though  it  had  brought  with  it  a  great 


276  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

fear,  it  had  also  brought  a  great  joy,  for  it 
seemed  as  though  the  days  of  my  loneliness  were 
over. 

Could  I  doubt  it  when  I  looked  into  Lady  Langer- 
dale's  face  and  felt  my  uncle's  warm  hand-clasp  ? 
There  was  a  sweetness  about  such  a  thought  hard 
for  another  to  realise,  and  for  a  moment  I  gave 
myself  up  to  it,-  Whilst  Lord  Langerdale  briefly  told 
his  wife  the  few  particulars  which  I  had  been  able 
to  give  him  of  my  mother  and  myself,  I  stood 
between  the  two,  keenly  conscious  of  and  en- 
joying the  change  which  seemed  hovering  over 
my  life. 

But  afterwards  I  remembered  the  ordeal  which 
I  had  yet  to  face  and  the  mission  which  had  brought 
me  to  London,  and  they  saw  the  gladness  die  slowly 
out  of  my  face. 

Lord  Langerdale  questioned  me  concerning  it, 
and  then  I  told  them  everything — told  them  of  our 
suspicions  in  connection  with  Mr.  Marx  and  of 
my  determination  to  find  him  out,  and  discover 
whether  he  had  been  guilty  of  foul  play  towards 
the  man  Hart. 

When  I  came  to  my  last  night's  adventure  with 
Count  de  Cartienne,  Lord  Langerdale  looked  very 
grave. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  declared,  "  that  this  is 
more  a  matter  for  the  police  than  for  you  to  mix 
yourself  up  in." 

I  shook  my  head.  Of  one  thing  I  did  feel  con- 
fident, although,  as  regards  the  whole  of  the  rest 
of  the  affair,  I  was  in  a  complete  maze. 

However  anxious  Mr.  Ravenor  might  be  for  the 
truth  concerning  the  missing  man  to  be  discovered, 
he  had  strong  reasons  for  not  wishing  the  police 
to  take  part  in  the  search.  I  felt  sure  of  that,  and 
was  determined  to  act  accordingly. 

Lord  Langerdale  was  not  easily  reassured. 


A  PAGE  OF  HISTORY.  277 

"  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  your  having  anything 
whatever  to  do  with  De  Cartienne  in  all  the  cir- 
cumstances," he  said,  with  a  shudder.  "  He  can 
have  but  one  feeling  for  you,  and  a  more  dangerous 
man  does  not  breathe.  It  is  an  evil  chance  that 
has  brought  you  together," 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

I  WILL  GO  ALONE. 

WE  all  sat  down  to  breakfast  together.  Lord 
Langerdale  divided  his  attention  between  his  break- 
fast and  The  Times. 

"  Are  you  going  shopping  to-day,  Elsie  ?  "  he 
asked,  looking  up  from  his  paper. 

She  glanced  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  I  think  so.     Why  ?  " 

"  Be  very  careful  about  your  change,  then. 
There  has  never  been  so  much  bad  money  about 
as  just  now.  The  papers  are  full  of  the  most 
startling  rumours.  Coining  must  be  going  on  in 
London  somewhere  upon  an  enormous  scale,  and 

the  police  are Why,  Philip,  what's  the  matter 

with  you  ?  " 

I  recovered  myself  promptly  and  set  down  the 
cup  which  I  had  been  within  an  ace  of  spilling. 

"  The  coffee  was  a  little  hot,"  I  said  slowly. 
"  It  was  very  stupid  of  me." 

He  went  on  reading  and  Lady  Langerdale  began 
to  talk  to  me.  But  my  attention  was  wandering. 
It  was  a  strange  idea  which  had  occurred  to  me, 
perhaps  a  ridiculous  one.  Yet  it  was  possessed 
of  a  certain  fascination. 

In  the  middle  of  breakfast  a  waiter  brought 
me  a  note.  Lady  Langerdale's  permission  was 
given  unasked  and  I  tore  it  open.  It  was  from 


I  WILL  GO  ALONE.  279 

De    Cartienne,    and   the    contents,    though    brief, 
were  to  the  point : 

"  MY  DEAR  MORTON, — I  have  seen  the  man 
whom  you  are  seeking  and  I  know  for  certain 
where  he  will  be  to-morrow  night.  My  carriage 
shall  call  for  you  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening — 
to-morrow,  mind  ;  not  this  evening — and  if  you 
care  to  come  I  will  bring  you  to  him.  By  the  by, 
you  might  as  well  bring  with  you  the  box  which 
you  were  good  enough  to  take  care  of — Yours, 

"  E.   DE  C." 

I  handed  it  to  Lord  Langerdale,  who  adjusted  his 
glasses  and  read  it  through  carefully. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  he  remarked,  when  he  had 
finished ;  "  don't  like  it  at  all.  Take  my  advice, 
Philip ;  send  him  his  box,  or  whatever  it  is,  and 
don't  go." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  must  find  out  about  Mr.  Marx,"  I  answered, 
"  and  I  know  of  no  other  means.  That  will  be  to- 
morrow night,  you  know.  To-day " 

"  Yes,  what  are  we  going  to  do  to-day  ?  "  Lord 
Langerdale  interrupted. 

I  answered  him  without  hesitation : 

"  I  am  going  down  to  Ravenor  Castle." 

He  looked  surprised,  a  little  agitated. 

"  I  shall  go  with  you,"  Lord  Langerdale  suddenly 
declared.  "  Alice  was  my  sister-in-law,  and  if 
Ravenor  deserted  or  ill-used  her,  I  have  the  right  to 
call  him  to  account  for  it." 

"  And  I  a  better  one,"  I  reminded  him  quietly. 
"  Grant  me  this  favour  please.  I  must  go  alone  and 
see  him — alone." 

He  looked  at  his  wife  and  she  Inclined  her  head 
towards  me. 

"  The  boy  is  right,"  she  said  softly.  "  It  is  his 
affair,  not  ours.  It  will  be  better  for  him  to  go 
alone.11 


CHAPTER  L. 

I    MEET    MY    FATHER. 

AFTER  a  wearying  journey  I  stood  at  last  before  the 
great  gates  of  the  castle,  the  bell  at  my  feet  giving 
shrill  notice  of  my  presence.  The  lodge-keeper 
hurried  out  and  welcomed  me. 

I  walked  swiftly  up  the  winding  ascent,  straight 
across  the  flagged  courtyard  and  entered  the  castle 
by  a  side-door.  Then,  heedless  of  the  surprised 
looks  of  the  servants,  I  made  my  way  to  the  library, 
and  knocking  softly  at  the  door  of  the  inner  room, 
entered. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  not  there, 
for  the  chamber  was  in  semi-darkness.  The  heavily- 
shaded  lamp  which  stood  upon  the  writing- 
table  was  turned  down  so  low  as  to  afford  no 
light  at  all,  and  the  fitful  glow  of  the  firelight 
left  the  greater  part  of  the  room  in  shadow. 
But  as  I  stood  upon  the  threshold  a  burning  coal 
dropped  upon  the  hearth,  and  by  its  flame  I  saw 
him  leaning  back  in  a  high  oak  chair  a  few  feet 
away. 

Softly  I  moved  across  the  room  towards  him  and 
then  I  saw  that  he  was  asleep. 

I  made  no  movement,  but  somehow  he 
seemed  to  become  conscious  of  my  presence  and 
opened  his  eyes.  They  fell  upon  me  standing 

980 


I  MEET  MY  FATHER.  281 

on  the  hearth-rug  before  him,  and  he  sat  up  with  a 
start. 

"  Philip  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  here  ?  You  back  ? 
You  have  found  him,  then  ?  " 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  I  trembled,  yet  I 
answered  him  at  once  3 

"Not  yet.  To-morrow  night  I  shall  see  him. 
Till  then  I  could  do  nothing — and  I  came  here." 

He  looked  at  my  mud-bespattered  boots  and 
wind-tossed  hair. 

"  You  have  walked  from  Mellborough  ? "  he 
asked.  Then  something  in  my  face  seemed  to 
strike  him,  and,  leaning  forward,  he  placed  his 
hands  upon  my  shoulders  and  turned  towards  the 
glow  of  the  fire. 

"  You  have  come  with  a  purpose ! "  he  said 
slowly.  "  Tell  me — you  have  heard  something  in 
London  ?  " 

I  bowed  my  head  silently. 

"  Some  story  of  the  past — my  past  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  My  *God  !  " 

Then  there  was  silence  between  us.  I  bore  it  till 
I  could  bear  it  no  longer. 

"  Can  you  wonder  that  I  have  come  ?  "  I  cried, 
my  voice  shaking  with  a  passion  which  I  knew  no 
longer  how  to  restrain.  "  Oh,  speak  to  me  !  Tell 
die  whether  this  thing  is  true  ?  " 

"  It  is  true." 

He  had  drawn  back  a  little  j  he  had  hesitated. 
I  caught  hold  of  his  hands  and  drew  him  towards 
me. 

"  My  father,"  I  cried  passionately,  "  speak  to 
me !  Why  do  you  draw  away  ?  Is  it  because — 
because — oh,  only  speak  to  me,  call  me  your  son, 
and  if  there  be  anything  to  forgive  I  will  forgive 
it." 

He  seemed  suddenly  to  abandon  an  unnatural 


282  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

struggle  and  caught  me  by  the  hands  and  clasped 
them.  For  a  moment  his  face  was  radiant. 

"  Philip,  my  son,  my  dear  son !  "  he  cried. 
"  Thank  God,  it  is  not  that  !  Thank  God, 
that  my  name  is  yours !  You  are  indeed  my 
son." 

After  a  considerable  silence  my  father  told  me 
how  he  had  met  Marx  abroad.  He  had  done  him 
some  service  and  they  had  become  friendly.  He 
latterly  engaged  him  as  secretary. 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  how  Marx  had  met 
him  on  his  return  after  his  long  absence  and  had 
taken  him  to  see  his  wife,  who  believed  him 
dead. 

He  then  told  me  how  he  had  found  her  married 
again  to  Farmer  Morton  and  implored  her  to  come 
back  to  him.  She  refused,  and  he,  in  a  blind  fury, 
rushed  back  to  where  he  had  left  Marx. 

He  was  attacked  by  Morton  ;  a  struggle  ensued 
on  the  brink  of  the  slate-pit.  After  a  time  my 
father  managed  to  fling  Morton  from  him  and 
fled. 

That  night  Marx  came  to  him  and  told  him  he 
had  thrown  Morton  into  the  quarry,  and  that  a  man 
named  Hart,  alias  Francis,  had  witnessed  the  deed. 
My  father  wanted  to  confess,  but  Marx  persuaded 
him  to  keep  silent  and  paid  Francis  to  bear  the 
crime. 

"Now  you  know  why  I  shrank  from  calling  yoi1 
my  son,  knowing  that  when  the  time  came  for  you 
to  be  told  of  your  parentage,  I  must  also  tell  you 
that  your  father  was  a  murderer  !  " 

"  It  is  false  !  "  I  cried,  springing  up  and  seizing 
both  his  hands.  "  It  was  an  accident.  No  one 
could  call  it  a  murder.  Oh,  my  father,  my  father, 
that  you  should  have  suffered  like  this  for  so  slight 
a  cause  !  " 

A  light  leaped  into  his  face  and  for  a  moment 


I  MEET  MY  FATHER.  283 

his  wasted  features  and  sunken  eyes  glowed  and 
shone  with  a  great,  unexpected  happiness.  He 
drew  me  gently  to  him  and  laid  his  hands  upon 
my  shoulders. 

"Thank  God  for  this,  Philip!"  he  said,  with 
trembling  voice.  "It  is  greater  consolation  than 
I  ever  dared  hope  for  in  this  world," 


CHAPTER   LIj 

DAWN. 

ON  the  morrow  as  we  walked  out  together,  my 
father  and  I,  making  our  way  as  though  by  common 
consent  up  towards  the  bare  brown  hills,  I  remem- 
bered that  there  were  many  things  which  I  wished 
to  say  to  him. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  about  Mr.  Marx,  father," 
I  began.  "  Everything  concerning  him  is  so 
utterly  mysterious,  especially  his  going  away  so 
suddenly.  Apart  from  the  fear  of  his  having  used 
some  sort  of  foul  play  towards  Hart — or  Francis— 
I  can't  help  thinking  that  there  is  something  else 
wrong  with  him.  You  trust  him  thoroughly,  I 
suppose  ?  "  I  added  hesitatingly. 

"  I  have  always  done  so,"  my  father  answered 
quietly. 

"  Do  you  like  the  man  himself  ?  "  I  asked. 

My  father  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  he  has  ever  aroused  my 
feelings  in  any  way,"  he  answered.  "  He  has  had 
work  to  do  for  me  and  has  done  it  well  and 
silently.  I  have  looked  upon  him  somewhat  as 
an  automaton,  although  a  valuable  one.  And 
yet "  he  added  musingly. 

'  Yet  what  ?  "  I  interrupted. 

"  Well,  sometimes  I  have  half  fancied  that  he 
was  playing  a  part,  that  his  interest  in  our  work 

284 


DAWN.  285 

was  a  little  strained.  He  gave  me  the  idea  of  a 
man  working  steadily  forward  towards  a  set  pur- 
pose, and  I  have  never  seemed  able  to  reconcile 
that  purpose  with  the  completion  of  our  task.  His 
sudden  absences,  too — for  this  is  not  the  first  of 
them, — are  strange." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  I  assented.  "  Has  he 
taken  anything  away  with  him  this  time  ? "  I 
asked  bluntly. 

A  very  grave  look  came  into  my  father's  face 
and  he  did  not  answer  me  at  once.  When  he  did 
so  his  tone  was  low  and  anxious. 

"  Yes,  he  has.  About  a  fortnight  ago  we  came 
to  the  end,  virtually,  of  our  long  task.  There  was 
only  a  little  revision  wanted,  which  he  was  to  have 
left  for  me.  The  night  that  he  disappeared  the 
manuscript  disappeared  also.  Evidently  he  took  it 
away  with  him." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  taken  it  to  the  publishers,"  I 
suggested.  My  father  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

*'  Only  this  morning  I  have  heard  from  them, 
begging  me  to  forward  it  without  delay,"  he  said. 

I  was  silent.  Even  if  he  had  taken  the  manu- 
script, what  use  could  he  make  of  it  ?  How  could 
it  profit  him  ? 

Suddenly  I  stood  still  in  the  path.  My  heart 
gave  a  great  leap  and  a  cry  broke  from  my  lips. 
For  the  first  time  an  idea,  the  vague  phantom  of 
an  idea,  swept  in  upon  me,  carrying  all  before  it, 
and  casting  a  brilliant,  lurid  light  upon  all  that 
seemed  so  dark  and  mysterious. 

"  This  man,  Marx,"  I  cried,  seizing  my  father's 
arm.  "  Tell  me  quickly.  Has  he  ever  reminded 
you  of  anyone  ?  " 

My  father  looked  at  me  wonderingly. 

"It  is  strange  that  you  should  ask  that,"  he 
said.  "  Sometimes,  especially  when  I  have  come 
upon  him  alone,  or  have  seen  him  excited,  his  tone 


286  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

and  little  mannerisms  have  seemed  somehow  vaguely 
familiar.  And  yet,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "  I 
have  never  been  able  to  recall  of  whom  they  have 
reminded  me." 

I  opened  my  trembling  lips  to  speak,  but  a  wave 
of  cold  doubt  swept  in  upon  me.  Surely  this  thing 
could  not  be  !  I  must  be  mad  to  let  the  idea  linger 
for  a  moment  in  my  mind.  And  yet 

At  that  moment  of  my  hesitation,  my  father's 
hand  fell  heavily  upon  my  arm.  He  pointed  for- 
ward along  the  dark  avenue  with  a  shaking  finger. 
In  the  dim  twilight  we  could  see  the  tall  gaunt 
figure  of  a  man  in  ragged  clothes,  making  his  way 
up  to  the  castle. 

"  That  is  not  one  of  my  men,  Philip,"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  It  is  a  stranger." 

My  father  turned  abruptly  from  the  avenue  into 
a  side-walk. 

"  Follow  me,"  he  said ;  "  we  will  go  in  by  the 
private  way." 

We  walked  across  the  turf,  through  a  little  iron 
gate,  which  my  father  unlocked,  and  entered  the 
shrubbery  walk. 

Once  I  looked  round  through  an  opening  in  the 
laurel  leaves.  The  stranger  was  leaning  wearily 
against  the  railings  round  the  lodge,  waiting  for 
admittance, 


CHAPTER   LIL 

WHERE     IS     MR.     MARX? 

NOT  until  we  had  reached  the  Castle  and  were  in 
the  library  did  my  father  speak  to  me.  Then  his 
words  were  grave  enough. 

"  We  have  done  Mr.  Marx  an  injury,  Philip,"  he 
said  slowly. 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"  Listen,  and  you  will  know." 

He  went  to  the  telephone  and  signalled.  The 
answer  came  at  once. 

"  Someone  has  been  asking  for  me  at  the  gate," 
he  said.  "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  stranger,  sir,  to  see  you." 

"  What  name  ?  " 

"  Hart,  sir." 

"  Is  he  waiting  ?  n 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  told  him  that  it  would  be  useless, 
but  he  refuses  to  go  away." 

"  You  can  pass  him.     Send  him  here  at  once." 

My  father  turned  away  and  looked  at  me  with 
all  the  old  weariness  in  his  face,  but  with  little 
agitation.  Of  the  two,  I  was  the  more  nervous. 
I  crossed  the  room  and  laid  my  hand  gently  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  Thank  God  that  I  am  here  with  you  !  What 
shall  you  say  to  him,  father  ?  What  does  he  want, 
think  you  ?  Money  ?  " 

187 


288  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET^ 

My  father  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  He  would  send  if  that  were  all.  He  has  what 
he  wants  and  that  is  not  much.  I  fear  that  he 
wants  something  else." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  His  good  name  cleared." 

"He  took  the  guilt  willingly,"  I  cried.  "He 
must  bear  it  now.  He  cannot  escape  from  it." 

"  He  can,"  my  father  answered.  "  He  can  tell 
the  truth." 

"  No  one  would  believe  him.  It  would  be"  his 
word  against  yours.  What  chance  would  he  have  ?  " 

My  father  turned  a  stern,  dark  face  upon  me. 

"  So  you  think  that  I  would  swear  to  a  lie, 
Philip  ?  No  !  There  was  always  this  risk.  I  have, 
felt  that  if  ever  he  should  demand  to  be  set  right 
with  the  world,  it  must  be  done." 

"  It  shall  be  done." 

We  started,  for  the  words  came  from  tne  other 
side  of  the  room.  Standing  in  the  deep  shadows 
just  inside  the  door  was  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  with 
long  dishevelled  beard  and  pale,  ghastly  face.  His 
clothes  were  ragged  and  weather-stained  and  his 
boots  were  thick  with  mud.  I  looked  towards  him 
fascinated.  It  was  the  face  of  the  lunatic  who  had 
twice  attempted  Mr.  Marx's  life.  It  was  Hart, 
alias  Francis,  the  man  who  held  in  his  hands  a 
life  dearer  to  me  than  my  own. 

"  Is  it  really  you,  Francis  ?  "  my  father  asked, 
in  a  shocked  tone.  "  You  are  altered.  You  have 
been  ill.  Sit  down." 

He  took  no  notice.  Whilst  my  father  had  been 
speaking  his  eyes  had  been  wandering  restlessly 
round  the  room. 

"  Where  is — he  ?  "  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Marx  ?  "  I  said. 

•'  Yes." 

"He  is  in  London.*' 


WHERE  IS  MR.  MARX  ?  289 

"  Ah ! " 

There  was  an  expression  in  his  face  partly  of 
disappointment,  partly  of  relief.  He  drew  a  long 
breath  and  remained  silent,  as  though  waiting  to 
be  questioned. 

"  Do  you  want  money  ?  "  my  father  asked. 

"  No." 

"  Do  you  want  to  give  up  your  secret,  to  let  the 
world  know  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

A  cry  burst  from  my  lips,  but  my  father  checked 
me. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said.  "  Sit  down.  You  need  not 
fear  ;  I  will  confess." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  confess.  It  is  I  who  must 
do  that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  my  father  asked,  peer- 
ing forward  into  the  darkness,  for  there  was  no 
lamp  lit  in  the  room.  "  Come  nearer  ;  I  cannot  see 
your  face." 

With  trembling  fingers  I  drew  up  the  blind  from 
the  high  window.  The  moon,  which  had  just 
emerged  from  a  bank  of  black,  flying  clouds,  cast 
a  long  stream  of  light  across  the  room. 

Francis  moved  forward  with  slow,  reluctant  steps. 
Then,  with  a  sudden,  wild  cry,  he  threw  himself 
upon  his  knees  before  my  father. 

"  As  God  in  Heaven  forgives,  swear  that  you  will 
forgive  me  !  "  he  cried  passionately. 

"  Forgive !  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  my 
father  answered  gently.  "  You  wish  to  lay  down 
your  burden.  Good  !  I  am  ready  to  take  it  up." 

He  stooped  forward  in  his  chair  and  stretched 
out  his  hand  to  the  man  to  help  him  rise.  In  his 
altered  position  the  moonlight  seemed  to  cast  a  sort 
of  halo  round  his  face,  and  it  seemed  to  me  like 
the  face  of  an  angel. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  cried  the  man  j  •  *  don't.  I 

T 


290  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

can't  bear  it !  Let  me  tell  you  the  truth,  or  I  shall 
die.  You  think  that  you  killed  Farmer  Morton. 
It's  false  !  Mr.  Marx  killed  him." 

"  What !  " 

My  father  had  sprung  Jto  his  feet.  Somehow, 
I  found  myself  by  his  side.  Francis  still  grovelled 
on  the  floor. 

"  Up,  man,  and  tell  me  all  the  truth,"  my  father 
cried  out  in  a  voice  of  thunder ;  "  up  on  your  feet 
and  speak  like  a  man." 

He  obeyed  at  once,  trembling  in  every  limb. 
Then  he  faltered  out  his  story  : 

"  I  was  in  the  wood  that  night.  It  was  dark  ; 
I  lost  my  way.  Suddenly  I  heard  voices — yours 
and  Morton's.  You  were  struggling  within  a  few 
feet  of  me.  Before  I  could  interfere  you  had  thrown 
him  down  and  rushed  away.  I  heard  him  breathing 
hard,  and  I  saw  Mr.  Marx  steal  out  from  behind 
a  tree  and  creep  up  to  him.  Morton  heard,  too, 
and  sprang  up.  They  struggled  together ;  perhaps 
in  the  darkness,  Morton  mistook  him  for  you.  I 
remembered  the  quarry  and  rushed  out.  I  was  too 
late. 

"  There  was  a  fearful  flash  of  lightning  and  I 
saw  Marx  put  forth  all  his  strength  and  throw  the 
other  into  the  slate-pit.  He  turned  round  and 
saw  me. 

"  He  would  have  hurled  me  over,  too,  if  he  had 
dared,  but  I  was  strong  and  he  was  exhausted. 
So  he  offered  me  money  to  go  away.  I  accepted, 
never  thinking  that  they  would  fix  the  crime  upon 
me.  Marx  had  thought  it  all  out  with  a  devilish 
cunning.  He  provided  me  with  disguises  and  told 
me  where  to  go  to  and  how  to  get  there.  When  I 
was  safe  away  and  read  the  papers,  I  saw  at  once 
how  I  had  been  trapped.  I  had  pleaded  guilty  to 
the  murder. 

"Time   went   on   and    I   grew   more   miserable 


WHERE  IS  MR.  MARX  ?  291 

every  day.  Marx  sent  me  plenty  of  money — too 
much.  I  began  to  drink.  I  was  ill.  When  I  re- 
covered I  wrote  to  tell  him  that  I  could  bear  it 
no  longer  and  that  I  was  coming  to  see  him.  I 
told  him  that  I  meant  to  go  to  a  magistrate  after 
I  had  given  him  time  to  get  out  of  the  country. 
He  dared  me  to  come  to  the  Castle.  Still, 
I  came.  It  was  dusk  when  I  got  here.  He  met 
me  in  the  avenue.  He  offered  me  large  sums  of 
money  to  go  away,  but  I  was  determined  and 
refused  everything.  It  was  then  from  something 
he  let  fall  in  his  anger  that  I  knew  how  he  had 
been  deceiving  you.  Then  I  would  not  listen  to  him 
any  more  and  bade  him  stand  out  of  the  way. 
He  let  me  pass  him  and  then  struck  me  on  the  back 
of  the  head  with  some  heavy  weapon." 

'*  My  God  !  "  I  cried.  "  I  was  close  to  you.  I 
heard  you  cry  and  I  met  Mr.  Marx  directly  after- 
wards. He  must  have  thrown  you  down  the  gravel- 
pit." 

"  It  was  there  I  found  myself  when  I  came  to 
my  senses,"  Francis  continued.  "  Directly  I  sat 
up  and  tried  to  think  over  what  had  happened  I 
began  to  feel  my  head  swim.  After  that  everything 
is  blurred  and  dim  in  my  mind.  I  fled.  The 
second  time,  you,  Mr.  Morton,  saved  his  life  from 
me,  as  my  fingers  were  closing  upon  his  throat. 

"  They  put  me  in  an  asylum.  Afterwards  Mr. 
Marx  passed  himself  off  as  my  brother  and  had  me 
moved  into  a  private  one.  The  commissioners 
came  and  I  appeared  before  them.  I  was  sane. 
They  let  me  go.  Where  is  Mr.  Marx  ?  Where  is 
Mr.  Marx  ?  " 

There  was  a  deep  silence.  Then  I  held  out  my 
hand  to  my  father  and  he  clasped  it. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  I  cried,  my  voice  quivering  with 
a  great  sob — "  thank  God  !  " 

"  Amen,"  my  father  repeated  softly. 


29*  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET* 

Again  that  question,  in  the  same  dry,  hard  tone. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Marx  ?  " 

We  looked  at  him — at  his  nervously  twitching 
hands  and  burning  eyes.  The  madness  was  upon 
him  again.  We  must  not  let  him  go.  My  father 
drew  me  on  one  side. 

"  I  shall  go  to  London  with  you  to-night,"  he 
said.  "What  shall  we  do  with  this  man  ?  " 

"  He  must  stay  here,"  I  answered.  "  Leave  it 
to  me." 

I  went  up  to  him  and  laid  my  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  Listen,  Francis,"  I  said.  "  There  are  two 
places  where  Mr.  Marx  is  likely  to  be  this  week. 
One  is  in  London,  the  other  here.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  " 

;'  Yes,"  he  answered  ;    "  I  understand." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Ravenor  and  I  know  best  where  to 
find  him  in  London,  but  we  can't  leave  unless  we 
know  that  there  is  someone  on  the  look-out  here 
as  well.  If  we  go  to  London,  will  you  remain  here 
and  watch  for  him  ?  " 

The  man's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  quickly.  "  This  is  the  room 
where  he  writes,  isn't  it  ?  He  will  come  here. 
Yes,  I  will  wait ;  I  will  watch  here  in  this  room." 

My  father  rang  a  bell  and  ordered  a  carriage  to 
take  us  to  the  station.  Then  he  gave  special  orders 
about  Francis.  He  was  to  be  allowed  to  remain  in 
the  library,  to  use  Mr.  Ravenor's  own  sleeping 
apartment,  and  to  have  meals  brought  to  him 
regularly. 

An  hour  later  we  left  the  castle  for  Torchester. 
As  we  drove  across  the  courtyard  we  could  see  a 
pale,  gaunt  figure  standing  at  the  library  window, 
silent  and  rigid.  It  was  Francis,  waiting. 


CHAPTER   Lllli 

MESSRS.   HIGGENSON  AND  CO. 

AT  ten  o'clock  we  reached  St.  Pancras,  travelling 
by  fast  train  from  Torchester,  and  half  an  hour 
later  a  hansom  put  us  down  at  the  Hotel  Metropole. 
Immediately  in  front  of  the  entrance  Count  de 
Cartienne's  small  brougham  was  waiting,  and  as  we 
descended  from  the  cab  his  servant  stepped  forward 
and  handed  me  a  note.  I  tore  it  open  and  read  it 
under  the  gas-lamp. 

"Come  to  me  at  once  and  you  will  find   Mr. 
M .     Bring  the  box  with  you.- 


I  passed  the  note  on  to  my  father  and  drew  him 
a  little  on  one  side.  At  the  sight  of  the  handwriting 
he  started. 

"  Philip,  whose  writing  is  this  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  The  writing  of  the  man  who  alone  knows  where 
Marx  is,"  I  answered.  "  It  is  he  who  calls  for  his 
letters  and  forwards  them." 

"  His  name  ?     I  insist  upon  knowing  his  name." 

"De  Cartienne." 

My  father's  face  turned  a  shade  paler  and  his 
eyebrows  contracted. 

"  You  have  been  keeping  this  from  me,  Philip. 
You  shall  not  go  near  that  man.  I  forbid  it.  My 
God  !  Marx  and  De  Cartienne  friends  !  " 

He  stopped  short  on  the  pavemeot  and  looked 


294  MR-  MARX'S  SECRET, 

at  me  with  a  new  light  in  his  face.  He  began  to 
understand. 

"  Marx  and  De  Cartienne,"  he  repeated  slowly. 
"  Philip,  cannot  you  see  what  this  means  ?  Marx 
has  been  De  Cartienne's  tool  and  I  have  been 
their  victim.  Where  is  De  Cartienne  ?  Philip,  you 
shall  tell  me  !  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

My  father  seized  my  arm  and  held  it  fast.  I 
turned  and  faced  him. 

"  Father,  you  must  leave  this  to  me,"  I 
said,  firmly.  "  I  have  thought  it  all  over  in 
the  train  and  my  plans  are  made.  You  will  trust 
me?" 

"  Tell  me  what  they  are,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  in  my  possession  a  box  belonging  to 
De  Cartienne,  which  contains  a  secret.  Until  I 
yield  that  box  up  to  him  I  am  safe,  since  he  can 
only  get  it  from  me.  You  see  that  he  tells  me  in 
this  note  to  bring  it  with  me." 

;<  Yes.     Go  on." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  without  the  box,  and  if  he 
is  really  ignorant  of  who  I  am  and  willing  to  give 
me  the  information  about  Marx,  why,  then  I  can 
easily  come  back  for  it,  and  whatever  it  contains 
he  must  have  unopened. 

"  If,  on  the  other  hand,  I  fall  into  any  sort  of 
trap  and  he  makes  me  send  for  it,  then,  imme- 
diately on  receipt  of  my  message,  no  matter  how  it 
is  couched,  you  must  force  the  box  open,  and  if  it 
contains  anything  in  the  least  suspicious,  come 
straight  to  my  aid  with  the  police.  The  messenger 
who  comes  for  the  box  must  be  bribed  or  frightened 
into  bringing  you." 

"  I  do  not  like  it,  Philip.  It  is  all  too  roundabout. 
If  De  Cartienne  has  any  idea  who  you  are,  you  are 
running  a  risk." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  I  answered.  "  Until  he  gets 
possession  of  that  box  he  will  feel  himself,  to  a 


MESSRS.  HIGGENSON  AND  CO,        295 

certain  extent,  in  my  hands  and  will  not  be  likely 
to  do  me  an  injury." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  the  box  contains  ?  " 

I  hesitated  and  looked  around.  De  Cartienne's 
servant  was  some  distance  off  and  there  was  no 
one  within  hearing. 

"  Have  you  read  the  newspapers  just  lately  ?  '* 
I  asked. 

My  father  shook  his  head. 

"  Only  the  literary  newspapers." 

I  bought  a  special  edition,  which  a  newsboy  was 
brandishing  in  our  faces,  and,  turning  down  the 
leading  article,  passed  it  on  to  my  father.  He 
glanced  down  at  it  and  then  looked  up  at  me  in 
blank  amazement. 

"  Philip,  you  cannot  mean  this  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  answered.  "  I  do,  indeed  ;  but 
whether  there  is  anything  in  it  or  not  we  shall  soon 
know.  I  must  go  now.  You  understand  what  to 
do  if  I  send  for  the  box." 

"  I  don't  like  your  expedition  at  all,"  he  said, 
doubtfully.  "  Have  you  any  idea  where  you  are 
going  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  None ;  but  I  shall  come  to  no  harm.  My 
star  is  in  the  ascendant  now.  If  it  leads  me  into 
danger  it  will  bring  me  safely  out  of  it.  An 
revoir  I  " 

Then  I  sprang  into  the  carriage  and  was  driven 
swiftly  away. 

Our  journey  came  to  a  sudden  end,  and,  if  I  was 
surprised  at  the  locality  into  which  it  had  brought 
me,  I  was  still  more  so  at  its  termination.  The 
carriage  had  stopped  outside  a  gloomy-looking 
warehouse,  the  back  of  which,  ornamented  with 
several  cranes,  overlooked  the  river.  The  whole  of 
the  front  appeared  to  be  in  darkness,  but  from  a 
gas-lamp  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  way  I 


296  MR,  MARX'S  SECRET, 

could  read  the  brass  sign-plate  by  tlie  side  of  the 
door  i 

HIGGENSON  AMD  CO. 
MERCHANTS    AND    EXPORTERS* 

The  door  of  the  carriage  was  thrown  open  and 
I  was  evidently  expected  to  descend.  I  did  so 
after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  have  brought  me  to 
the  right  place  ?  "  I  asked  the  man  who  held  the 
door  open.  "  This  seems  to  be  a  warehouse.  I 
think  there  must  be  some  mistake." 

The  man  silently  closed  the  carriage  door  and 
stepped  up  to  his  seat  beside  the  driver. 

"  There  is  no  mistake,"  he  said  curtly.  "  You  will 
find  the  Count  de  Cartienne — there." 

He  pointed  to  the  warehouse  door  and  I  saw 
that  it  was  now  open  and  that  a  man  was  standing 
upon  the  threshold.  I  turned  towards  him  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Will  you  come  this  way,  Mr.  Morton  ?  "  he 
said.  "  Count  de  Cartienne  is  sorry  to  have  to 
bring  you  here,  but  we  are  busy — very  busy,  and 
he  had  no  time  to  get  back  to  the  hotel.  The 
carriage  will  wait  to  take  you  back." 

The  man's  manner  and  tone  were  certainly  not 
those  of  a  servant,  but  from  the  position  in  which 
he  stood  I  could  see  nothing  save  the  bare  outline 
of  his  figure.  I  crossed  the  pavement  towards  him. 

We  left  the  room  and  he  conducted  me  down  a 
passage  and  into  a  small  chamber.  Here  my  com- 
panion paused  and  lit  a  lamp  which  stood  on  a 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Count  de  Cartienne  will  be  with  you  in  a  mo- 
ment," he  said,  walking  to  the  door.  "  Kindly 
excuse  me." 

I  turned  the  lamp  a  little  higher  and  looked 


MESSRS.  HIGGENSON  AND  CO,        297 

around.     The  room  was  quite  a  small  one  and 
plainly  furnished  as  a  waiting-room. 

For  the  first  time  I  began  to  realise  fully  what 
I  had  done  in  coming  to  this  place  at  such  an  hour. 
Some  wild  thoughts  of  a  tardy  retreat  flashed  into 
my  mind,  and  I  tried  the  handle  of  the  door  by 
which  we  had  entered.  It  turned,  but  the  door 
remained  closed.  I  stooped  down  and  examined 
it.  The  result  was  as  I  had  feared — a  spring  lock 
had  fastened  it.  I  tried  the  other  door,  by  which 
my  guide  had  issued.  The  result  was  the  same.  I 
was  a  prisoner. 

I  had  scarcely  time  to  realise  my  position  before 
it  became  necessary  to  act.  The  door  was  suddenly 
opened  and  Count  de  Cartienne  stood  before  me, 
his  eyes  flashing  with  anger  and  his  tall,  lithe  frame 
quivering  with  rage. 

"  Why  have  you  not  brought  that  box  ?  "  he 
exclaimed  in  a  low,  fierce  tone. 

I  stood  up  facing  him,  with  my  back  to  the 
table,  striving  to  keep  calm,  for  the  situation  was 
critical.  The  complete  change  in  his  appearance 
and  manner  towards  me  was  sufficient  warning. 

"  The  box  is  safe  enough,"  I  answered.  "  You 
can  have  it  in  an  hour's  time.  But " 

"  But  what  ?  "  he  interrupted,  savagely.  "  Why 
have  you  not  brought  it,  as  I  bade  you  in  my  note  ? 
Why  is  it  not  here  ?  We  want  it  at  once  !  " 

"  You  forget  that  there  is  a  quid  pro  quo  which 
I  expect  from  you.  It  seems  to  me,  Count  de 
Cartienne,  that  you  are  making  a  tool  of  me, 
and " 

"  What  is  it  you  want — to  see  this  man  Marx  ? '? 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  he  is  not  here." 

I  checked  the  rejoinder  which,  had  I  spoken  it, 
would  probably  have  cost  me  my  life. 

"  Where  is  he,  then  ?  "  I  asked. 


298  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETj 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  you  have  written  for  that 
box,"  he  said,  opening  a  drawer  and  placing  pen 
and  paper  upon  the  table. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  There  is  no  need  for  me  to 
write.  It  is  of  no  use  my  remaining  if  Mr.  Marx 
is  not  here.  Send  your  servant  back  with  me  and 
I  will  give  it  him." 

"  No,  I  shall  hold  you  as  a  hostage  for  the  box. 
Besides,  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you,  boy," 
he  added  grimly.  "  Write." 

I  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  Do  I  understand  that  you  detain  me  here 
against  my  will  ? "  I  said,  slowly. 

"  Understand  anything  you  please,  but  write." 

I  took  up  the  pen  without  another  word.  When 
I  had  finished  the  note  he  took  it  from  me  and  read 
it  through.  Then  he  glanced  at  the  address  and 
started. 

"  Mr.  Ravenor  I  Oh,  Mr.  Ravenor  is  in  London, 
Is  he  ?  "  he  remarked  slowly. 

"  Yes." 

He  looked  away  with  the  ghost  of  an  evil  smile 
upon  his  lips. 

"  Ravenor  in  London  I  How  strange.  He  and  I 
are  old  acquaintances.  I  must  call  on  him,"  he 
added  mockingly. 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment  and  then  left  the 
room  abruptly  with  the  note  in  his  hand.  I  tried 
to  follow  him,  but  the  door  closed  too  quickly.  If 
I  could  have  seen  any  means  of  escape  I  should 
have  made  use  of  them,  for  I  had  gained  the  know- 
ledge which  I  had  come  to  seek,  and  I  knew  that 
I  was  in  danger.  There  was  only  that  solitary 
window  looking  out  upon  the  river  and  the  closed 
door.  If  this  man  meant  mischief,  I  was  securely 
in  his  power. 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

A  RAID, 

IN  a  few  minutes  Count  de  Cartienne  returned* 

He  flashed  a  sudden  keen  glance  at  me. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  have  any  idea  as  to  the  con- 
tents of  that  box,"  he  said,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
curiously  upon  me. 

Looking  back  now,  I  see  clearly  that  I  was  guilty 
of  the  grossest  folly  in  answering  as  I  did.  But  I 
was  young,  impetuous,  conscious  of  great  physical 
strength,  and  with  all  that  contempt  of  danger 
which  such  consciousness  brings.  So,  without  hesi- 
tation, I  drew  from  my  pocket  the  evening  paper 
which  I  had  bought  in  Northumberland  Avenue, 
and  laid  my  finger  upon  the  column  which  I  .had 
shown  my  father. 

"  This  may  have  something  to  do  with  it,"  I 
remarked. 

His  face  grew  a  shade  paler  as  he  glanced  it 
through.  Then  he  folded  it  up  and  handed  it  back 
to  me  with  a  polite  gesture. 

"  So  that  is  your  idea,  is  it  ?  "  he  remarked. 
"  Why  didn't  you  go  to  Scotland  Yard  and  tell  them 
of  your  suspicions  ?  " 

I  felt  that  he  was  watching  me  keenly  and  made 
a  great  effort  to  remain  composed,  although  my 
pulses  were  beating  fast  and  I  felt  my  colour 
rising^ 

m 


300  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  It  was  no  business  of  mine,"  I  answered.  "  Be- 
sides, if  I  had  done  so  I  should  have  lost  my  chance 
of  finding  out  anything  about  Mr.  Marx  from  you." 

"  Your  reasoning  does  you  infinite  credit,"  he 
answered,  with  a  slight  sneer.  "  You  are  quite  a 
Machiavelli.  Come  ;  I  want  to  show  you  over  my 
— warehouse." 

I  followed  him  reluctantly,  for  I  liked  his  manner 
less  and  less  ;  but  I  had  scarcely  an  alternative. 

We  passed  along  a  narrow  passage  and  through 
several  rooms  piled  up  to  the  ceiling  with  huge 
bales  ;  then  we  descended  a  winding  flight  of  iron 
steps,  and  as  we  reached  the  bottom  I  began  to 
hear  a  faint  hum  of  voices  and  strange,  muffled 
sounds. 

He  unlocked  a  small,  hidden  door  before  us,  and 
we  stood  on  the  threshold  of  a  large,  dimly-lit 
cellar. 

One  swift  glance  around  showed  me  the  truth  of 
my  vague  suspicions,  and  warned  me,  too,  of  my 
peril.  It  was  a  weird  sight.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  place  a  small  furnace  was  burning,  casting  a 
vivid  glow  upon  the  white,  startled  faces  of  the 
men  who  were  grouped  around  it.  One  held  in  his 
hand  a  great  ladlefull  of  hissing  liquid,  and  another 
on  his  knees  was  holding  steady  the  mould  which 
was  to  receive  it.  But  though  they  kept  their 
positions  unchanged,  they  thought  no  more  of  their 
tasks.  The  attention  of  one  and  all  was  bent  upon 
me  in  horror-struck  amazement. 

The  man  who  first  recovered  himself  sufficiently 
to  be  able  to  frame  an  articulate  sentence  was  the 
man  holding  the  ladle. 

"  Are  you  mad,  De  Cartienne  ?  "  he  hissed  out. 
"  What  have  you  brought  that  young  cub  down 
here  f or  ?  " 

"  I  have  brought  him  here,"  he  answered,  with 
a  shade  of  contempt  in  his  tone  at  the  alarm  which 


A  RAID,  301 

they  were  all  showing,  "  because  he  is  safer  here 
than  anywhere  else — for  the  present. 

"  Somehow  or  other — probably  by  looking  inside 
that  unfortunate  box — this  young  cub,  as  you  call 
him,  knows  our  secret.  To  let  him  go  would,  of 
course,  be  absurd,  so  I've  brought  him  here  to  be 
tried  for  his  unpardonable  curiosity.  What  shall 
we  do  with  him  ?  I  propose  that  we  throw  him  into 
the  river." 

I  moved  a  little  farther  back  towards  the  door, 
listening  with  strained  ears  and  bated  breath,  for 
I  fancied  that  I  heard  a  faint  sound  of  voices  and 
footsteps  above.  Apparently  the  others  had  heard 
it,  too,  for  there  was  a  death-like  silence  for  a  few 
moments.  Then  spoke  the  Count. 

"  That  must  be  Drummond  with  the  box.  Will 
you  go  and  see,  Ferrier  ?  " 

There  was  the  trampling  of  many  feet  outside, 
and  then  a  sudden  swift  torrent  of  blows  upon  the 
closed  door. 

In  an  instant  all  was  wild  confusion.  Count  de 
Cartienne  was  the  only  one  who  was  not  panic- 
stricken. 

"  The  game  is  up,"  he  cried  fiercely,  "  and  here 
is  the  traitor." 

Like  lightning  he  stooped  down  and  I  saw  some- 
thing in  his  hand  flash  before  my  eyes.  There  was 
a  strange  burning  pain  and  then  everything  faded 
away  before  my  sight.  I  heard  the  door  beaten 
down  and  the  sound  of  my  rescuers  streaming  in. 
Then  all  sound  became  concentrated  in  a  confused 
roar,  which  throbbed  for  a  moment  in  my  ears 
and  then  died  away.  Unconsciousness  crept  in 
upon  me. 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  again  I  found  myself 
'ving  upon  a  bed  in  a  strange  room.  By  my 
side  was  my  father,  leaning  back  in]  a  low,  easy 
chair. 


3oa  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET, 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  I  asked.  "  How  long  have  I 
been  here  !  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

My  father  stood  up  with  a  little  exclamation  of 
relief. 

"  Better,  Philip  ?  That  is  well.  You  are  at  the 
nearest  decent  hotel  we  could  find  last  night,  or 
rather  this  morning." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  cried. 

"  Everyone  was  taken  except  De  Cartienne.  He 
fought  like  a  tiger  and  got  off.  But  it  is  only 
for  a  while.  He  will  be  caught.  His  descrip- 
tion  " 

"  His  description  will  be  of  no  use  at  all,"  I  in- 
terrupted, breathlessly.  "  Has  anything  been  heard 
of  Mr.  Marx  ?  " 

My  father  picked  up  an  open  telegram  from  the 
table  by  his  side. 

"  Mr.  Marx  has  gone  back  to  Ravenor.  This 
telegram  is  from  the  stationmaster  at  Mellborough." 

I  leapt  from  the  bed  and  plunged  my  still 
aching  head  into  a  basin  of  water. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Philip  ?  You  will  be  ill 
again  if  you  excite  yourself,"  my  father  said  won- 
dering. 

"I'm  all  right,"  I  answered.  "What  is  the 
time  ?  " 

"  Four  o'clock." 

"  Quick,  then,  and  we  shall  catch  the  five  o'clock 
train  to  Mellborough,"  I  urged. 

"  To  Mellborough  1  But  how  about  De  Car- 
tienne ?  " 

"  De  Cartienne !  He  exists  no  longer !  It  is 
Marx  we  want." 

Then  the  truth  broke  in  upon  my  father,  and  he 
sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  low  cry. 

"  Philip,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  before  ?  " 

"  I  only  knew  last  night  for  certain.     Thank  God, 
kept  it  to  myself.    He  thinks  himself  safe  as  Mr. 


A  RAID.  303 

Marx — safer  than  flying  the  country  as  the  Count 
de  Cartienne — the  villain  !  " 

Suddenly  my  father  stopped  short  on  his  way  to 
the  door. 

"  Philip,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  do  you  remember 
whom  we  left  at  Ravenor  waiting  for  Mr.  Marx  ?  " 

For  the  moment  I  had  forgotten  it.  We  looked 
at  one  another  and  there  crept  into  my  mind  the 
vision  of  a  gaunt,  desperate  man,  his  white  face  and 
burning  eyes  filled  with  an  unutterable  fiendish 
longing.  The  same  thought  filled  us  both.  If 
Mr.  Marx  made  use  of  his  private  keys  and  went 
straight  to  the  library  at  the  castle,  what  would 
come  of  it  ? 

I  laid  my  hand  upon  my  father's  arm. 

"  There  is  justice  in  the  world  after  all,"  I  said 
hoarsely.  "  That  man  will  kill  him." 

Then  we  went  out  together  without  another 
word. 


CHAPTER   LV, 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MR.  MARX. 

IT  was  twenty  minutes  to  eight  when  we  arrived 
at  Mellborough,  and,  as  we  had  not  sent  word  on, 
there  was  no  carriage  to  meet  us,  nor,  as  it  happened, 
any  spare  vehicle.  After  a  brief  word  or  two  with 
the  stationmaster,  we  decided  to  walk  down  into 
the  town  and  order  a  fly. 

When  we  reached  the  house,  the  butler  stepped 
forward,  his  ruddy  face  blanched  and  his  voice 
shaking. 

"  Thank  God  you  are  come,  sir  !  The  man  you 
left  here,  he's  gone  a  raving  lunatic,  and  he's  shut 
himself  up  there,  and  got  your  revolvers  out,  and 
swears  that  no  one  shall  enter  the  room  till  you 
come." 

"  There's  someone  with  him,"  my  father  said 
quickly. 

The  man's  face  seemed  literally  shrunken  up  with 
horror. 

"  It's  awful,  sir ;  I've  been  near  once,  and  I'll 
never  get  over  it  as  long  as  I  live.  He's  got  some 
poor  wretch  there,  killing  him  by  inches,  torturing 
him  like  a  cat  does  a  mouse.  He's  been  shrieking 
for  help  for  hours,  and  we  can  do  nothing.  The 
poor  creature  must  be  nearly  dead  now.  Ah,  there 
it  is  again,  sir  1  Four  of  our  men  have  been  shot 

304 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MR.  MARX.        305 

trying  to  get  to  him.  Listen !  Oh,  why  does  he 
not  die  !  " 

A  low,  faint  cry,  full  of  a  most  heart-stirring 
anguish,  floated  out  from  the  library  window.  It 
was  the  most  awful  sound  I  have  ever  heard  in  my 
life.  Following  close  upon  it,  drowning  its  faint 
echo,  came  the  loud  mocking  laugh  of  the  tor- 
turer, ringing  out  harsh  and  mirthless  in  hideous 
contrast. 

A  deep,  audible  shudder  passed  through  the  little 
group  of  bystanders.  Then  my  father,  without  a 
word,  started  forward  across  the  lawn  towards  the 
window  and  I  followed  close  behind.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  everyone  must  be  holding  vheir  breath, 
the  silence  was  so  intense.  The  wind  had  dropped 
for  a  moment,  and  the  moon  shone  faintly  down 
through  a  cloud  of  mist  upon  the  white,  eager  faces, 
filled  now  with  a  new  anxiety. 

A  few  swift  steps  brought  us  to  the  window.  A 
lamp  was  burning  upon  the  writing-table  and  the 
interior  of  the  room  was  clearly  visible.  On  the 
floor  a  little  distance  from  the  window  was  a  dark 
shape  which,  as  we  drew  nearer,  we  could  see  to 
be  the  prostrate  figure  of  a  man.  Walking  up  and 
down  in  front  of  it,  with  short,  uneven  steps,  was 
Francis,  his  hair  and  dress  in  wild  disorder  and  his 
whole  appearance  betokening  that  he  had  recently 
been  engaged  in  a  desperate  struggle. 

Suddenly  he  turned  round  and  saw  us.  With  a 
wild  cry  of  rage  he  rushed  to  the  window,  the  glass 
of  which  was  completely  wrecked,  and  glared  at 
us  threateningly  through  the  framework. 

"  Away  !  away  !  "  he  shrieked,  "  or  there  will  be 
more  trouble  I  I  must  stay  here,  I  must  wait  till 
he  comes  !  Let  me  be,  I  tell  you  !  " 

The  revolver,  which  he  clenched  in  his  right 
hand,  was  raised  and  levelled.  It  was  a  dreadful 
moment. 


306  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET. 

"  It  is  I,  Mr.  Ravenor,"  my  father  answered 
calmly.  "  Don't  you  know  me,  Francis  ?  " 

Again  the  moon  broke  through  the  clouds  and 
shone  with  a  faint  light  upon  my  father's  pale, 
stern  face.  Francis  recognised  him  at  once.  He 
threw  his  hands  high  over  his  head  in  a  wild  gesture 
of  welcome  and  flung  open  the  window.  My  father 
walked  steadily  forward  into  the  room  and  I  fol- 
lowed him.  Francis,  trembling  with  eagerness, 
stood  between  us. 

"  See,"  he  cried,  pointing  downwards,  "  is  it  not 
well  done  ?  See  !  Let  me  tell  you  about  it.  Quick  ! 
quick  !  He  came !  It  was  twilight !  He  was  at 
the  cabinet  there.  I  stole  out  of  the  darkness.  I 
flung  my  arms  around  him.  He  struggled.  Ah  ! 
how  he  struggled  ;  but  it  was  all  no  use.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
ha  !  I  was  too  strong  for  him.  I  held  him  tighter 
and  tighter,  till  I  nearly  strangled  him,  and  he 
gasped  and  gurgled  and  moaned.  Oh  !  it  was  fine 
to  see  him.  Then  I  found  a  cord  in  the  drawer 
there  and  I  bound  him,  and  while  I  fastened  the 
knots  I  laughed  and  I  talked  to  him.  I  talked 
about  that  night  in  the  storm  when  he  threw  his 
father  " — he  pointed  a  long,  quivering  finger  at  me 
— "  threw  him  into  the  slate  quarry,  and  about 
that  day  when  he  came  to  the  Castle  gate  and 
brought  me  to  the  plantation,  and  suddenly  caught 
me  by  the  throat  till  he  thought  he  had  strangled 
me,  and  beat  me  on  the  head.  Ah,  how  my  head 
has  burned  ever  since,  ever  since,  ever  since  !  Ah, 
Milly,  come  to  me  !  Milly,  I  am  on  fire  !  My  head 
is  on  fire  !  Ah,  ah  !  " 

The  foam  burst  out  from  between  his  pallid, 
quivering  lips,  and  his  eyes,  red  and  burning,  sud- 
denly closed.  A  ghastly  change  crept  over  his 
blood-stained,  pallid  face.  He  sank  backwards 
and  fell  heavily  upon  the  floor. 

We  scarcely  noticed  him,  for  our  eyes  were  bent 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  MR.  MARX.        307 

elsewhere.  The  horror  of  that  sight  lived  with 
me  afterwards  for  many  years,  a  haunting  shadow 
over  my  life — disturbing  even  its  sweetest  moments, 
a  hideous,  maddening  memory.  I  am  not  going 
to  attempt  to  describe  it.  No  words  could  express 
the  horror  of  it.  Such  things  are  not  to  be  written 
about. 

Even  my  father's  iron  nerve  seemed  to  give 
way  for  a  moment,  and  he  stood  by  my  side  trem- 
bling, with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands.  Then 
he  sank  on  his  knees  and  loosened  the  cords. 

:<  Thank  God  he  is  dead,"  he  murmured  fer- 
vently, as  he  felt  the  cold  body  and  lifeless  pulse, 
and  cleared  away  the  last  fragments  of  dis- 
guise from  the  head  and  face.  "  You  had  better 
call  Mr.  Carrol  in,  Philip." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  little  awed  group  was  silently 
filling  the  room,  Carrol  and  his  sergeant  amongst 
them.  But  after  all  they  were  cheated  of  their 
task,  for  out  in  the  moonlight  John  Francis  lay 
stark,  the  madness  gone  from  his  white,  still  face, 
and  the  calm  of  death  reigning  there  instead. 


CHAPTER  LVI, 

THE  END  OF  IT. 

WE  were  together,  my  father  and  I,  under  the 
shade  of  a  little  cluster  of  olive  trees  high  up 
among  the  mountains.  Far  away  below  us  the 
Campagna  stretched  to  the  foot  of  the  dim  hills 
steeped  hi  blue  which  surround  the  Eternal  City, 
towards  which  we  had  been  gazing  in  a  silence 
which  had  been  for  long  unbroken.  It  was  I  at 
last  who  spoke,  pointing  downwards  to  where  the 
bare  grey  stone  walls  of  a  small  monastic  building 
rose  with  almost  startling  abruptness  from  a  narrow 
ledge  of  sward  overhanging  the  precipice. 

"  Is  this  to  be  the  end,  then,  father  ?  "  I  cried 
bitterly  ;  "  this  prison-house  ?  " 

He  turned  towards  me  with  a  look  upon  his 
face  which  I  had  grown  to  hate — a  look  calm  and 
gentle  enough,  but  full  of  resolution  as  unchanging 
as  the  mountains  which  towered  above  us. 

"  It  must  be  so,  Philip,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Is 
it  well,  think  you,  that  I  should  return  again  into 
the  life  which  I  am  weary  of,  when  all  that  I  desire 
lies  here  ready  to  my  hand  ?  Peace  and  rest — I 
want  nothing  more." 

"  And  why  cannot  you  find  them  in  England — 
at  Ravenor  with  me  ?  "  I  cried  eagerly.  "  And 
your  work,  too — it  could  be  done  again.  We 
would  live  alone  there  and  bury  ourselves 

308 


THE  END  OF  IT,  309 

from  the  world  and  everyone  in  it.  I  could  help 
you.  I  could  be  your  amanuensis.  I  should 
like  that  better  than  anything.  Remember  how 
all  the  papers  lamented  the  cruel  destruction  of 
your  manuscripts,  and  how  everyone  hoped  that 
you  would  rewrite  them.  Oh,  you  must  not  do 
this  thing,  father — you  must  not !  You  have  no 
right  to  cut  yourself  off  from  the  world — no  right  I  " 
I  re-echoed  passionately. 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  but  alas  I  with  no 
sign  of  yielding. 

"  Philip,"  he  said  quietly,  "  it  troubles  me  to 
hear  you  plead  like  this  in  vain,  for  so  it  must 
ever  be.  I  am  happy  now  ;  happy  in  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  time  we  have  spent  together.  Happy, 
too,  in  the  thought  that  I  can  end  my  days  in 
peace,  with  no  disturbing  ghosts  of  the  past  to 
rise  up  and  haunt  me  !  " 

I  was  silent  and  kept  my  face  turned  away 
towards  the  mountains,  for  I  would  not  have  had 
him  see  my  weakness.  Soon  he  spoke  again, 
and  this  time  there  was  a  vein  of  sadness  in 
his  tone. 

"  The  time  has  come  for  us  to  part  for  awhile, 
Philip.  There  is  one  thing  more  which  I  would 
say  to  you.  It  concerns  Cecil." 

"  Cecil  ?  "  I  echoed  vaguely. 

"  Yes." 

"  All  his  life  he  has  been  brought  up  to  consider 
himself  my  heir.  Now,  of  course,  things  will  be 
very  different  with  him.  He  is  weak  and  easily 
led.  I  should  like  to  think  that  you  were  friends  J 
and  if  you  have  an  opportunity  of  helping  him 
in  any  way  you  will  not  neglect  it." 

"I  will  not,"  I  promised.  "Cecil  and  I  will 
always  be  friends." 

We  descended  the  steep  hillside  path  and  stood 
together  almost  on  the  threshold  of  the  little 


3io  MR.  MARX'S  SECRET; 

monastery.  Then  my  father  held  out  his  hand 
to  me,  and  a  soft,  sweet  light  shone  for  a  moment 
in  his  dark  blue  eyes. 

"Farewell,  Philip,"  he  said— "  farewell.  God 
bless  you."  And  while  I  was  returning  the  grasp 
of  his  closed  fingers  and  struggling  to  keep  down 
a  rising  lump  hi  my  throat,  he  passed  away  from 
me  silently,  like  a  figure  in  a  dream,  and  the  thick, 
nail-studded  door  opened  and  was  closed  behind 
him. 

Then  I  set  my  face  towards  Rome,  with  blurred 
eyesight  and  a  bitter  sense  of  loss  at  my  heart. 
I  was  going  back  to  England  to  take  possession 
of  a  great  inheritance,  but  there  was  no  joy  in  the 
thought,  only  an  unutterable,  intolerable  loneli- 
ness which  weighed  down  my  heart  and  spirits 
and  filled  me  with  deep  depression. 

Cecil  met  me  in  London,  and  we  went  to 
Ravenor  together.  It  was  a  strange  sensation 
to  me  to  enter  the  Castle  as  its  virtual  owner,  to 
wander  from  room  to  room,  from  gallery  to 
gallery,  and  know  that  it  was  all  mine,  and  that 
the  long  line  of  Ravenors  who  frowned  and  smiled 
upon  me  from  their  dark,  worm-eaten  frames 
were  my  ancestors.  At  first  it  seemed  pleasant 
— pleasant,  at  least,  in  a  measure, — but  when  I 
stood  in  the  library  and  passed  on  into  that  little 
chamber  the  memories  connected  with  them  swept 
in  upon  me  with  such  irresistible  force  that  I  was 
glad  to  send  Cecil  away  for  a  while. 

For  some  time  I  lived  quite  alone,  save  for  Cecil's 
frequent  visits,  keeping  aloof  from  the  people 
who  lived  near,  and  making  but  few  acquaint- 
ances. The  days  I  spent  either  on  horseback  or 
with  my  gun,  or  often  tramping  many  miles  over 
the  open  country  with  a  book  in  my  pocket,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  days  of  my  boyhood.  The 
nights  I  had  no  difficulty  about  whatever.  With 


THE  END  OF  IT,  311 

such  a  library  as  my  father's  to  help  me,  my  love 
of  reading  became  almost  a  part  of  myself. 

There  was  one  person  who  viewed  this  change 
with  profound  dissatisfaction,  and  who  at  last 
broke  into  open  protest. 

"  I  say,  Phil,  you  know  it  won't  do,"  Cecil  de- 
clared one  night,  when  I  had  tried  to  steal  away 
into  the  library  on  some  pretext.  "  A  young 
fellow  of  your  age,  with  eighty  thousand  a  year, 
has  no  business  to  shut  himself  up  with  a  lot  of 
musty  books  and  dream  away  his  time  like  an 
old  hermit.  People  are  asking  about  you  every- 
where, and  I'm  getting  tired  of  explaining  what  a 
rum  sort  of  chap  you  are.  It  won't  do,  really." 

"  Well,"  I  answered,  "  what  do  you  want  me 
to  do  ? " 

"I  want  you  to  come  back  to  town  with  me 
and  put  up  with  my  people  a  bit.  The  mater  is 
very  keen  about  it ;  in  fact,  she  says  that  she  shall 
come  down  here  in  the  autumn  if  you  don't  come." 
I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  a  day-dream 
rose  up  before  me. 

"  What  is  your  sister  like  now,  Cis  ?  "  I  asked 
suddenly. 

"  Trixie  1  Oh,  she's  turned  out  pretty  well,  I 
think  !  "  he  answered  complacently.  "  What  friends 
you  two  used  to  be,  by  the  by !  " 

We  said  no  more  about  the  matter  then,  but  on 
the  following  morning  I  received  two  letters,  one 
from  Lady  Silchester  and  the  other  from  Lord 
Langerdale,  both  urging  me  to  pay  at  least  a  short 
visit  to  London  and  perform  social  duties,  which 
naturally  seemed  of  more  importance  to  them 
than  to  me.  I  read  them  through  carefully  and 
made  up  my  mind  at  once.  But  Lord  Langerdale's 
letter  had  stirred  up  some  old  memories,  and  1 
did  not  tell  Cecil  my  decision  immediately. 

M  You  are  about  town  a  good  deal,  Cecil.    Do 


3ia  MRi  MARX'S  SECRET; 

you  ever  see  anything  of  Leonard  de  Cartienne  ?  " 
I  asked. 

Cecil  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  nor  am  I  ever  likely  to,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  heard  of  him,  though,  by  a  strange  fluke." 

"  What  is  he  doing  ?  " 

"  Got  a  commission  in  the  Turkish  army. 
Queer  thing  I  heard  the  other  day  from  a  man 
I  used  to  know  very  well  once.  He's  secretary 
at  the  Embassy  now  at  Constantinople,  and  he 
asked  me  whether  I  ever  came  across  him.  Seems 
he  isn't  particularly  popular  out  there." 

"  He's  a  bad  lot,"  I  remarked. 

"  Jolly  sure  of  it,"  Cecil  assented.  "  No  one 
but  a  blackguard  would  have  behaved  as  he  did 
to  poor  little  Milly.  But  about  London,  Phil  ?  " 

"  I  will  go,"  I  said.  "  If  you  like  we  will  leave 
here  to-morrow." 

Lady  Silchester  received  us  very  kindly,  and 
Beatrice,  though  full  of  the  distractions  of  her 
first  season,  seemed  even  better  pleased  to  see  us. 
It  was  strange  how  much  I  found  in  the  tall  slim 
girl,  whom  everyone  was  quoting  as  the  beauty 
of  the  season,  to  remind  me  of  the  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  child  whose  imperious  manner  and  nai've 
talk  had  so  charmed  me  a  few  years  ago.  There 
were  the  same  wealth  of  ruddy  golden  hair,  the 
same  delicate  features,  and  the  same  dainty  little 
mannerisms.  Everyone  admired  Lady  Beatrice,  and 
so  did  I. 

My  stay  in  London  lasted  till  the  end  of  the 
season.  I  made  my  orthodox  debut  into  Society 
under  the  wing  of  Lord  Langerdale,  and  divided 
my  time  pretty  well  between  my  aunt  and  uncle 
and  the  house  in  Cadogan  Square.  When  at  last 
it  was  all  over,  Lord  and  Lady  Langerdale,  Lady 
Silchester,  Cecil,  and  Beatrice  returned  to  Ravenor 
as  my  guests. 


THE  END  OF  IT.  313 

I  am  not  writing  a  love  story.  I  cannot  trace 
the  growth  of  my  love  for  Beatrice,  for  it  seemed 
to  come  upon  me  with  a  rush  ;  and  yet,  when  I 
wondered  how  it  came,  it  seemed  to  me  that  it 
must  have  been  always  so.  Those  long  summer 
days  at  Ravenor  were  the  sweetest  I  had  ever 
known.  I  lost  all  count  of  time.  Hours  and 
days  and  weeks  seemed  all  blended  in  an  exquisite 
dream,  from  which,  unlike  all  others,  the  awaken- 
ing was  at  once  the  culmination  and  the  happiest 
part.  For  one  night  we  came  back  hand  in  hand 
from  wandering  about  on  the  terraces  under  a 
starlit  sky,  and  a  great  joy  was  gliding  through 
my  veins  and  throbbing  in  my  heart. 

Need  I  say  what  had  happened  ?  Beatrice 
was  mine,  my  own,  and  I  was  very  happy. 

"  Come  to  me  when  you  are  married — both  of 
you,"  was  my  father's  message ;  and  we  went. 
Alas,  for  the  cloud  which  so  soon  dimmed  our  new- 
born happiness !  We  arrived  in  time — only  just 
in  time — to  stand  by  his  death-bed. 

How  the  scene  comes  back  to  me !  The  door 
and  windows  of  his  little  chamber  were  thrown 
wide  open  and  the  soft,  languorous  breeze,  heavy 
with  the  odour  of  wild  flowers,  stole  in  and  played 
upon  his  wasted  face. 

What  a  countenance  it  was !  Passion-scarred, 
yet  chastened  and  softened  by  keen  physical 
pain ;  the  burning  blue  eyes  fixed  steadily,  yet 
with  a  sweet,  steadfast  light,  upon  the  dim  horizon 
— beautiful  after  the  highest  type  of  spiritual 
beauty.  Twilight  stole  down  from  the  hills,  and 
then  we  gently  folded  his  arms  upon  his  breast, 
and  the  watchers  outside,  knowing  well  what  such 
an  action  meant,  wiped  the  tears  from  their  eyes 
and  slowly  wended  their  way  homewards. 

Then,  later,  the  solemn  chant  of  the  monks 
in  pious  procession  broke  the  stillness  of  the 


314  MR.  MARX'S  SECRETV 

mountain  night.  But  such  a  death  was  scarcely 
death.  At  least,  it  was  death  robbed  of  all  its 
terrors ;  unutterably  sad,  yet  unutterably  sweet. 
There  was  truth  beyond  expression  in  the  simple 
words  rudely  carved  upon  the  wooden  cross  which, 
amid  a  score  or  two  of  others  in  a  sheltered 
nook  down  in  the  valley,  stands  at  the  foot  of  his 
narrow  grave — 

"HE  SOUGHT  PEACE,  AND  FOUND  IT." 
So  may  it  be  with  us! 


TEE  END. 


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The  Prince  of  Sinners  $1.30  net 

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Anna  the  Adventuress  $1.30  net 

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In  which  an  unroftiantic  Englishman  falls  in  love  and  learns 
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Mr.  Marx's  Secret  $1.30  net 

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The  Illustrious  Prince  $1.30  net 

Exposes  a  Japanese  political  intrigue  in  London. 

The  Lost  Ambassador  $1.30  net 

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The  Survivor  $1.25  net 

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Those  Other  Days  $1.25  net 

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For  the  Queen  $1.25  net 

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